


ain't going down without a fight

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Series: urban werewolves lirry [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Human Louis, M/M, Werewolf Harry, Werewolf Liam, Werewolf Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We should do it here,” Harry says, and even though he’s looking at Liam, he doesn’t appear to be speaking to him.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“No fucking way,” Niall argues. “If it’s his first time, he should shift in the Vault.”</i></p><p>  <i>Harry looks up at the sky and Liam follows his gaze. He seems to be looking up at the moon, full and getting brighter as the world gets darker. Once Liam gets an eye on it, he feels pulled to it, like he won’t ever be able to bring himself to look away again.</i></p><p>  <i>“Not enough time,” Harry decides. </i></p><p>  <i>Liam didn’t know you could tell time by the moon, but he figures you learn something every day.</i><br/> </p><p>[Or urban werewolves Lirry.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	ain't going down without a fight

**Author's Note:**

> Urban Werewolves Lirry! I'm in denial on a daily basis that this even _exists_. It genuinely would not be a real and true thing in the world without Bek, who is a certified genius and hilarious and supportive and thoughtful and kind, and who carried me through this whole thing from the tiny 1k drabble it started as and, along the way, said, "Uh, I think this is going to be bigger than you think it is." (ha)
> 
> I am also indebted to Jessi, my #werewolffic2k16 partner in crime, whose guidance I can't live my life without, fic or otherwise. Thank you to Amy for yelling at me about this, thank you to anyone on tumblr who read snippets and were unbelievably kind.
> 
> Incredible thanks and gratitude to the incomparable and inimitable [Jenn](http://drownedindeniall.tumblr.com), who has created my new phone lockscreen -- I mean, this incredible piece of art that I literally cried over -- and [this killer fanmix,](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Fuser%2Fliquidmeasure%2Fplaylist%2F4wmDen2F4FyFYbGI5TqKrR&t=NjJjYjg5NjZjOTE0YTZkM2Y5MDUwMjc5OGM5YzAzZjRjZGFlYmQ4ZixmWEs1MDhkUg%3D%3D) and whose texts about this fic were absolutely generous and so affirming.

\--

Liam's vision starts to get cloudy as soon as he walks into the soup aisle. He's not even sure why he wants soup when his skin feels hot and clammy. This is unlike any illness he's felt before -- he’s not achy or stuffy, just… unsettled. He can’t focus on anything, not the rows of soup, not the slow movement of his feet. He’s starting to get worried.

He just wants to go home and lie in bed and try to look pathetic enough that Louis will make the soup and tea for him and then try to sleep for the next twenty-four hours, even though he hasn’t really slept in days. He’s had bouts of insomnia in the past, but nothing that’s ever left him feeling this poorly.

He doesn’t know how far he’ll make it -- maybe not even out of the store, because he can’t seem to focus long enough on the can of cream of mushroom soup in his hand to even be certain it _is_ cream of mushroom soup. Maybe he wants tomato.

An unforgiving jolt of pain licks down his entire body, stemming from his back and branching everywhere. The pain wrenches a guttural cry from him, nearly knocking him off his feet. His mind seizes and empties of all thoughts but the pain. It’s sudden and confusing, and when he comes back to himself, he’s not even sure how much time has passed. Then he realizes he’s fallen against the shelves, knocked a couple of cans over, and has somehow completely crushed the can in his hand. He watches, dazed and bewildered, as creamy soup drips steadily through his fingers onto the floor.

Then it’s sensory overload, the sound of a hundred heartbeats pounding in his ears and his skin shivering and his deep inhales bringing an entire shop full of scents. He drops the busted can on the floor.

He just needs to get home. Or to hospital. Every inch of him is shouting at him to go outside, _outside_ , so he stumbles blindly for the door, barely paying any mind to the mess he’s made or the people he bumps into on his way out.

But outside is worse; the smells are worse, the sounds are louder, the pain nearly brings him to his knees. With the next wave of it, he stumbles into a shop window, grasping at it because he doesn’t trust his feet to carry him much further.

It’s too loud, it’s too _much_ , and it hurts to keep moving, but he does. He forces himself to find a safe haven, off the streets, around the corner of a pub where there’s nothing but a line of smelly bins to keep him company. He leans back against the brick facade and runs his hands up and down his jeans to see if they’ll stop shaking.

They don’t. Liam’s afraid he’s going to fall apart.

“It’s him,” a low voice says from the other end of the alley, and though it has the tone of a whisper, it echoes loudly as though someone were hollering directly in Liam’s ears.

“I don’t recognize him,” says another voice, Irish, dubious.

Liam slaps his hands over his ears -- not that it helps -- but moments later, a pair of hands finds his wrists and pulls them down gently. He’s about to protest, but he starts to feel like he’s coming back to himself, the fuzziness around his eyes receding, the world going softer.

He blinks up at the stranger, who looks straight back into Liam’s eyes. It startles Liam a little with the directness of his gaze, but his green eyes appear as kind as they do fierce. Liam doesn’t have much of a choice but to just stare dumbly back as he’s appraised.

One of the stranger’s hands slides up Liam’s arm until it rests gently against his chin. He tips Liam’s head to the side and Liam goes easily, lets the stranger duck his face into the crook of Liam’s neck.

It’s _weird,_ but Liam can’t find it in himself to object. Even as the bloke seems to smell him, takes this strange deep breath, Liam slowly starts to feel more at ease.

When he pulls back, Liam feels dizzy with the loss, tempted to bury his own face into the stranger’s neck just to see what would happen. He bets it would feel amazing.

“Why are you fighting the change?” the bloke rumbles.

Liam blinks at him and croaks, “The what?”

He looks quickly back at another stranger, who Liam notices for the first time. This one stands off to the side with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. He looks ready to flee, bouncing on his toes.

“God, Niall, he doesn’t know,” the first one says and he sounds somewhat desperate.

The frown on the one called Niall’s face softens and he looks at Liam with something like pity. “ _Bitten_? Shit. You know what -- ”

“I know,” the first one cuts in sharply. “We can’t leave him on his own.”

“Yeah, all right,” Niall answers, but he doesn’t sound happy about it.

Liam watches the two of them, bewildered by their shorthand. He keeps coming back to the green-eyed man in front of him. There’s something magnetic about him, has Liam’s eyes repeatedly sweeping over the unruly mane of brown hair running past his shoulders and the unbuttoned shirt that swims on him and the tattoos displayed on his chest. He doesn’t know what to think of him.

“Can you tell me your name?”

He blanks at the question for a few terrifying seconds. He forgets how to put it into words. Liam. _Liam_. “Liam,” he says finally.

“Hello, Liam, I’m Harry,” the man says gently. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam says, dazed, unsure what Harry’s going to do about Liam’s body rebelling and all, but something in the confidence in his voice makes Liam believe him.

“We should do it here,” Harry says, and even though he’s looking at Liam, he doesn’t appear to be speaking to him.

“No fucking way,” Niall argues. “If it’s his first time, he should shift in the Vault.”

Harry looks up at the sky and Liam follows his gaze. He seems to be looking up at the moon, full and getting brighter as the world gets darker. Once Liam gets an eye on it, he feels pulled to it, like he won’t ever be able to bring himself to look away again.

“Not enough time,” Harry decides.

Liam didn’t know you could tell time by the moon, but he figures you learn something every day.

“He’s dangerous,” Niall argues, but Liam isn’t. Liam is a stranger, true, but he’s harmless, he knows that, even in spite of what’s happening now.

“I can help him,” Harry says firmly.

Liam’s genuinely lost listening to their conversation and about to tell them so when another flash of pain strikes him. He tries to stifle the shout that wells up in his throat. His knees give for a moment and he collapses into Harry, who catches him with ease.

Liam buries his face in Harry’s neck, breathing deep, calming breaths, too desperate for the reprieve to wonder why this helps. Or why he’s fighting the impulse to nip at him.

“That’s okay,” he says like he can hear Liam’s confusion. To be fair, Liam isn’t even sure he’s not voicing it. “You’re going to be okay.”

Liam exhales shakily, hating the way he sounds small when he asks, “I am?”

“It’s going to hurt like a bitch,” Niall adds.

Harry turns to him, clearly irritated, dislodging Liam from Harry’s neck. Liam leans far enough to brace himself back against the brick wall as Harry gives a sharp, “Niall.”

“No use lying to him, is there,” Niall mutters, but he acts reprimanded nonetheless, his eyes dropping as though out of respect. Liam does appreciate his honesty, for what it’s worth.

“It’s gonna hurt?” Liam asks, even though it already hurts. He can’t imagine it hurting more than it already does, but at least the violent shots of pain have settled to a dull hum of distress. “Should I go to A&E? What’s happening to me?”

“It’s going to be okay,” Harry says again, and instead of feeling comforted this time, Liam feels on edge. He doesn’t know why he should need to be reassured so much. Harry calls to the other bloke without taking his eyes off Liam, though. “Niall.”

“Yeah,” Niall says impatiently. He starts stripping off his loose joggers and vest, folding them neatly on the ground. Liam notices for the first time neither of them are wearing shoes.

“Um,” Liam says, and if it is possible, his heart starts racing faster. He doesn’t know why he’s trusting these strangers, doesn’t know why he’s letting them see him vulnerable, doesn’t know what they plan to do to him.

“Doesn’t hurt as much if you do it voluntarily,” Harry says, but Liam’s not paying much attention. He’s watching Niall kneel on the ground and start to take deep, deliberate breaths. He seems undisturbed by the fact that he’s starkers in an alleyway in front of a total stranger.

Harry leans in closer to Liam, his lips brushing his ear. “The more you fight it, the more it’ll fight you. Just don’t fight it.”

Liam’s about to ask him _fight what_ , when he sees it. Niall’s jaw is tight with concentration as the rest of him begins to shake. He braces himself against the pavement as his back curves unnaturally and his legs twist and elongate. And his eyes, they’re glowing an unnatural sort of gold. His grunts of pain become deep growls that burrow into Liam’s chest.

Liam watches, horrified, until it’s not Niall crouching on the pavement, but a beast. Something giant and snarling and grey. Liam gasps, digging his fingers into his thighs in a desperate attempt to convince himself this isn’t reality.

“My, Niall, what big teeth you have,” Harry murmurs as he leans back to cast a lazy look over at the giant wolf standing in Niall’s place.

It appears neither Liam nor the wolf find that funny.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Liam breathes. Because really. What the _fuck_.

“This is what we are.” Harry turns back to Liam. His eyes shine with the same fierce confidence they did when they first met Liam’s. “Your first change should be safer than this, I’m so sorry, but you have to trust us. We’ll help you.”

Liam shakes his head. He’s not. He’s not like that. He doesn’t want that. He isn’t… it’s not _real_. People don’t just become monsters. “Not real,” he mutters.

Harry snakes a hand under Liam’s shirt, pressing closer to him almost like an embrace. Liam’s shirt pulls around Harry’s arm until he reaches up to his shoulder blade, his fingers smoothing over the scar on Liam’s back. Liam can’t figure out how Harry even knows about it, let alone why the skin tingles around his fingers where they touch.

“You were bitten,” Harry says.

Liam shakes his head. “Mugged.”

That’s what the police said, he was attacked with some sort of serrated knife. His attacker must have fled before they stole anything, for some reason nobody can tell. That’s what he remembers. Or what he’s convinced himself he remembers.

He’d stopped on the sidewalk, gaping up at the Blood Moon as it drifted in and out of sight behind the clouds. He’d been transfixed by the unnatural deep red color, blind to the rest of the world around him. He’d so quickly forgotten himself staring up at it that he’d have thought the moon owned him.

Then he’d been shoved, he’d taken a nasty spill, knocked his head hard on the pavement, could barely register the searing pain in his back. Most of the details are still fuzzy. Anything else was too strange, inexplicable. He prefers the easy explanation. He was mugged.

“By someone with fangs?” Harry asks, unimpressed.

He does remember fangs, is the thing, blood-stained teeth, shining eyes, a dark figure running from him as he fell from consciousness.

The police had said there weren’t animals like that, not in the middle of a city. Just a routine mugging, a slice through the upper right part of his back -- they’d called it something fancier at the hospital, explained to him which muscles belonged there -- but it couldn’t even have been that deep with how quickly it healed over. The knock on his head didn’t even require stitches. Within a day, he’d been right as rain. The scar on his back had been the only indication that anything had happened at all.

Not mugged. Shit. Liam wasn’t mugged. He’s not sure if it’s the moon that grips his body with pain this time, or the realization.

Harry inhales sharply, just seconds after Liam does, scrunching his eyes shut, jerking a little, and bracing his other hand against the wall by Liam’s head. It’s the first moment of discomfort he’s seen in Harry, and Liam realizes he must be in pain too. When his eyes open again, they briefly flash just as gold as Niall’s had been before returning to green.

“Shouldn’t fight it,” Harry says through gritted teeth. He finally steps away from Liam and shrugs off his loose shirt. “You can keep your clothes here, we’ll scent the place and come back for them.”

“It’s not real,” Liam mumbles, even though he’s got eyes on the grey wolf as it stalks back and forth in front of them, its sharp eyes watching Liam with every step.

“I’m sorry, Liam,” Harry says, and he actually sounds it. He grabs his clothing and Niall’s and tosses them over by one of the bins, without regard to what state they’re in. “I’ll try to wait for you, as long as you don’t fight the change.”

Liam squeezes his eyes shut and tries to deny that he doesn’t feel something shifting underneath his skin. Doesn’t feel the pull of something greater than him, stronger than him itching to reach the surface. He doesn’t like the idea of becoming something other than himself.

“Shit,” Liam hisses and starts to tug his clothing off. He tucks his watch into one of his socks, stuffs them into a shoe. He hopes he sees it again.

He feels a little stupid standing there exposed, just waiting for something to happen, but he _knows_ that it will. It’s like that feeling you get when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff you know you’re about to jump off, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your feet. He looks back up to Harry for help, almost asks him _now what_ , but just as soon as he wonders, it starts.

Liam cries out as his back seizes, falling once again into Harry’s arms. Harry lowers them both slowly to the ground, waits for Liam to settle his weight on the pavement until he moves a hand up to smooth across Liam’s cheek. He speaks quietly to Liam, but it sounds like white noise by the time it reaches his ears.

Liam’s bones crunch and shift and move and the pain is greater than he’s ever experienced, far beyond what he’s already felt tonight. He’s dazed, somehow, like he can’t even register what’s happening to him beyond sheer pain and disbelief. The haze in his mind grows stronger the more he shifts, the world goes black around the edges of his eyes, like something else is taking over.

He fights it with everything he has. He doesn’t know how to give up control or if he _should_ give up control. But Harry’s right, it only makes it hurt more.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harry says again, somehow clear as day, and it’s the last thing Liam registers before he loses himself entirely.

\--

He’s shivering a little when he wakes up, the early morning breeze dancing across his skin. He puts it down to how very starkers he is, once he realizes he’s curled up on a patch of dead grass with his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair before him.

He gently removes his hand, careful not to disturb Harry where he’s sleeping with his back against Liam’s chest. He sits up, his muscles aching with every small movement, and the roll to his feet is harder than it should be. Niall shifts a little in his sleep where he rests on the other side of Harry, but they otherwise remain unmoved.

His eyes take a little while to adjust to the semi-darkness that comes before dawn as he looks around for any clue where they’ve landed for the night. It looks like an abandoned train track, a heavily graffitied tunnel to his right, more tracks to his left. Everything’s overgrown with weeds, the only other sign of life besides the three of them. Slopes of dirt and litter lead up on either side of the tracks, hopefully headed to a road that’ll lead him back to the city.

He has to get the hell out of here, away from these people he doesn’t know, away from the impossible things that happened to him last night. Every particle in his brain shouts at him that this can’t be real, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to people. He doesn’t want any of it. He doesn’t want to know the strangers, though they were kind to him. He doesn’t want to lose himself.

But the moon was full last night, and he can’t deny what he is.

He spies half a ragged, dirty, grey tarp over by the tunnel. He quickly picks his way through the yard, carefully side stepping shards of broken glass bottles and god knows what else. He gets the tarp wrapped around his waist, tucked in like he would a bath towel, and. Well. He’s seen stranger outfits on the bus, to be honest.

He scrambles up the dirt slope, one hand gripping the ground, the other at the tarp around his waist. He glances back down when he reaches the top, startled to see Harry looking back up at him, propped up by an elbow. Liam swears he can see Harry’s eyes flash and glow, but he thinks he may have just been imagining it. He wishes he’d been imagining it, but he isn’t.

He’s a bit embarrassed to be caught trying to sneak away and has to fight the urge to stumble back down the hill to him, like a tether is tied around his waist and Harry’s pulling him forward. Then Harry raises a hand and wiggles his fingers at Liam, like a goodbye, and the tether snaps. Harry lowers his head onto his arms, curling up again like he’s going back to sleep. He must understand.

Liam hasn’t a clue where he’s at when he looks over at the side of the road waiting for him at the top, but there’s civilization to his left, twinkling lazily as the sun slowly rises. He’s pretty sure he lives in that direction. He makes a mental note to look at pictures of his city more often.

It starts to rain, not heavy enough to be much more than a mist, as he makes his way to the city. The world looks as hazy as Liam feels.

He remembers the pain more than anything else, the moments leading up to the change, not so much the change itself or what came after.

He gets flashes of his night the more he tries to think of it. Lurking in the shadows, snapping at pigeons, ducking away from bright lights and loud music. The memories are innocuous enough, and Liam nearly feels like he can relax about what’s happened until another flash hits him. Scoping out a young couple on a park bench, catching their scents on the wind, calculating the best way to collect both prizes instead of settling for the slower of the two.

Liam stumbles to a halt on the side of the road, shaking his head in denial even though there’s no one around to refute him. Liam’s not like that. He couldn’t ever do that kind of thing. He’s not a monster. He has to believe that.

He has to believe he’d have stopped himself even if he hadn’t been stopped by the large brown wolf with piercing eyes and a commanding stance, who moved in front of him and waited until he backed down, kneeling and baring his neck in submission. That must have been Harry. Or Harry’s wolf, he insists. It’s not Harry any more than the thing inside him is Liam. It can’t be. Because that means Liam is also the monster he turned into, and he’s not.

He walks until his feet are going to fall off, and then he keeps walking, all the way until the sun is up and he eventually recognizes where he’s at. He elicits a fair number of scandalized looks from commuters he passes on the street. After a while, he just keeps his head ducked, until he’s found his way back to the alley Harry tucked their clothes in. Liam shudders out a long breath of relief to find the small pile of crumpled clothing still waiting for him under the bin.

He slips his hoodie and jeans on, breathes another sigh of relief when he slides his watch back on his wrist. He snatches up his shirt quickly and hightails it back to his flat. He’s never felt so desperate to go home.

\--

He doesn’t realize he’s got Harry’s shirt clenched in his right fist until he goes to pluck his keys from his pocket. He stares down at the thing, deep red cotton with a couple of holes and at least one missing button. He’d just taken it. He hadn’t even spared a thought about it.

He nearly chucks it away from him, doesn’t want a physical reminder of the nightmare. The shirt makes it real. The shirt means he can’t pretend.

For reasons he doesn’t understand, he keeps the shirt anyway and plunks up the six flights of stairs that stand between him and safety.

When he steps through his threshold, it’s like the weight on his chest lifts. The house is full of familiar sights and sounds and smells, all immediately comforting. The scent of fast food and cigarettes leads him to the kitchen. He gets there and doesn’t see either of those things, and he realizes this scent just must be Louis.

Louis’ eyes light up at the sight of him. Liam can only imagine what he looks like, the rumpled clothing, the dirt, the exhaustion.

“ _Liam Payne_ , is this a walk of shame I’m witnessing?” he crows from behind his mug of tea.

Liam shakes his head, a little action, pathetic enough that Louis’ face falls. He sets down his mug and rises. Liam reaches out for him, pulls him close in a tight hug, and buries his face in Louis’ neck. He breathes in deeply, nearly addicted to how this move now calms him faster than anything else has before.

“Oh, Liam,” he says, gentler than Liam’s ever heard him.

He hates how he crumbles now that he’s slowed down. Earlier he’d had a mission, something to distract him from reality. He had to get home. But now that he’s home and there’s nothing in front of him but Louis’ pitying face and his own thoughts, he breaks.

He won’t cry. He refuses to soak Louis’ loose shirt or threaten to rub snot on his exposed collarbones. He won’t.

“Thought you were coming home last night, mate,” Louis says, which is the closest he’ll probably get to admitting he was worried. Liam pulls away to look at him, sees how he’s trying to keep his face schooled, but Liam can feel the anxiety rolling off of him in waves. He feels so in tune to Louis, like he senses what Louis’ feeling deep in his bones.

“Me too,” Liam agrees, his heart rate picking up as he decides whether he should tell him. Or, more honestly, whether Louis will believe him. “Got a bit waylaid.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks with a crooked eyebrow. “What’d you get up to?”

Liam can almost hear what Louis’ thinking about -- the last time he came home like this, exactly a month ago on the night of the Blood Moon, when Liam’d spent the night in a hospital bed with what he thought was a knife wound to his back. Louis had lost his mind the next morning, shouting and stomping about, furious that Liam hadn’t called him to come to the A&E, that Liam had taken the bus home. It probably looks to Louis like he’s done it again.

“Turned into a werewolf, I think,” Liam says as earnestly as a person can say something that ridiculous. He can’t lie to him, not outright.

Louis eyes him for a moment, his face neutral until it breaks into an impatient eyeroll. He doesn’t believe him. “Well, if you’re going to be a shit about it, Liam,” he grouses, pushing irritably at Liam’s chest. “Was gonna make you a cuppa and all.”

Liam cracks a grin, somewhat relieved he’s still capable of it. He could play the whole thing off as a joke, not a big deal, and he doesn’t think Louis would press any further. “Ooh, I could go for a tea.”

“Not doing shit for you now. You can keep your secrets,” Louis says. “And get a shower, Liam, you do smell like a dog.”

Louis pads out of the kitchen now that Liam’s smiling after him. He’s relieved Louis doesn’t know how to ask him what’s happened, really, because he’s not got a clue how to explain it.

In the bathroom, he strips quickly and turns for the mirror, twisting and dropping his shoulder so he can get a good look at the thick scar on his back. It’s faded already into a neat silver line even though it’s only been a month and should probably still be pink and ugly. He supposes it does sort of have a crescent look to it, a bit bite-like, even if it doesn’t look like a set of jaws got him. He gasps when he runs his fingers lightly over the scar, a tremor running through his body at the touch.

He jerks his hand away and moves to crank on the shower. He catches his reflection in the mirror again -- his face looks gaunt, circles deep around his eyes. He looks away quickly and steps into the shower, relishing the cold shock of the water against his hot skin.

\--

_Harry comes to him at night, when Liam’s settled in bed but can’t drift to sleep with the moon calling for him the way it does. He’s crouched outside Liam’s window like he’s ready to pounce in as soon as Liam invites him. So Liam does and Harry pounces._

_He settles himself in Liam’s bed like he owns it, draping himself over Liam like he owns him. He scents him first, burying his nose deep in the crook of Liam’s neck the way he likes Harry to. He starts nipping gently at the exposed skin there._

_Pleased, Liam closes his eyes and shifts so more of his neck is exposed. He stays stock still, soaking up Harry’s ministrations, fighting the urge to shiver at the risk of knocking him off. The nips grow rougher, like actual bites, sending sharp pains through Liam._

_“Harry,” Liam gasps, cupping his jaw and gently guiding him up._

_Harry looks down at him, his hair framing his face like a mane, his eyes dark and cruel. His lips peel open in a sinister grin to reveal a mouthful of sharp fangs. Liam realizes what’s coming for him just as Harry’s about to do it. Harry dives in for Liam’s neck, sinks his teeth in deep and deadly, and Liam can’t scream through the pain as Harry starts to tear him apart._

Liam jolts awake so hard he thinks he’s going to accidentally snap his neck. He pats desperately at his throat, satisfied to find it’s all still there, intact.

It’s the third night in a row since That Night he’s woken up shaking, sweating, haunted, long before his alarm goes off. He rolls over and squints at his phone. 2.47 am.

“Shit,” he mumbles, turning his face into his pillow even though he’s wide awake now. Last night he’d gone for a run in the middle of the night, his legs pumping harder than they’ve ever done before, carrying him far out of the city until he threatened to reach the abandoned train tracks he’d woken up in after the full moon. There’s a power in him now, something he doesn’t fully comprehend. Stretching himself to find his new limits calms him down as much as it makes him want to shift and push himself harder.

He groans into the pillow before he picks himself off his bed. He shuffles toward the window -- no Harry in sight, thankfully -- and digs his fingers into the wood. He’s never successfully opened it before, try as he might. But this time, the window goes easily with minimal effort, the hardened paint that keeps it stuck together making an ugly crack that echoes through their flat.

He pauses and listens for the sound of Louis’ breathing instinctively, barely fazed by the fact that he can hear him now from across the flat when he tries hard enough. Louis remains undisturbed, breathing rhythmically, snoring slightly.

The sounds have been one of the hardest things to adjust to, every small noise hitting Liam like he’s living with the surround sound turned all the way up. He has to take significantly more trips to hide out at the loo at his office when the keyboards clacking and pens tapping get to be too much, audible even through the steady stream of Drake that plays through his headphones.

Sometimes he breaks things, which isn’t ideal either. The power humming under his skin is something he’s never had before, and he doesn’t understand its full potential. He doesn’t know how to turn it off, or if the wolf has taken the ability to be gentle from him.

The lack of sleep is the worst, though, he thinks as he swings through the window onto the fire escape outside. The metal stairs make ugly creaks under his feet, but to others he’s sure they blend in with the sounds of the city. He quickly ascends the two flights to the roof, glancing up at the moon as soon as there’s nothing between the two of them.

The moon is slowly losing its round shape -- a waning gibbous, according to Google -- and the more days that pass, the less Liam feels on edge at all times. Just _some_ of the times.

He wouldn’t know how to explain it other than he feels a little less like he’s going to lose himself. It had sort of been like being on the verge of passing out, but awake. Knowing he was slipping from consciousness, not like he was passing out, but because something else was taking over, battling him for control.

It’s been three days since the full moon and he can’t sleep and he’s scared. It's not supposed to be like this. It's not like the movies. He's not cursed once a month, he's cursed every day.

He’d spent the entire night after the first full moon locked in his room with a dresser pushed against the door, wide awake and terrified he was going to change again because the moon calendar he found online said the full moon lasted two nights. The change didn’t happen, though, and everyone was safe. Safe from Liam. Safe from what he’s become.

Sometimes he thinks about finding Harry, wonders if he could scent him around the city using the shirt he pretends he doesn’t have tucked in his top drawer with his socks. He wonders if Harry would have found him that second night, if he’d have come to run with Liam even if Liam didn’t want to go.

Harry was kind and Harry saved him from himself. Harry could have answers. But Harry told him not to fight it, Harry told him to change and that’s the last thing he wants to do. He doesn’t know Harry at all. He doesn’t know if Harry’s just as out of control as Liam feels, if Harry’s going to destroy him the way he dreams he will.

He won’t go looking for Harry. He’s sure he can do this on his own. He won’t let it rule him.

He won’t let it ruin him.

\--

“ _Payne_ ,” snaps a voice above Liam’s head, and he jerks awake for the second time that day.

He blinks up at Mr. Sutherland, red faced and livid, standing over him.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbles, scooting up in his chair and turning back to his computer. The numbers and words on the screen don’t make much sense to him, but he tries his best to blink them into submission.

“That’s the second time this week you’ve fallen asleep at your desk,” Mr. Sutherland booms, and Liam winces with the force of it. Mr. Sutherland never makes an effort to gently coach anyone’s mistakes privately. He makes examples of his employees instead. Liam hates that, but he's in a results-oriented business. You make your sales or you hit the door.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit poorly lately,” he answers as the office hushes around him. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“We’ve got deliverables, Payne, we can’t afford to be napping at our desks while everyone else works hard around you.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles again. He knows it’s unprofessional, he’s embarrassed enough himself without Sutherland’s help.

“If you’re looking to sleep the day away, you’re welcome to do so, unemployed, at your flat. I could find a list of people eager to replace you.”

Embarrassment slowly gives way to anger within him, a familiar humming taking over. He’s being threatened, and it feels like the wolf doesn’t like it. He panics, he can’t afford to do anything reckless. He’s toed at the edge of changing all week, but nothing as strong as this. This is anger and resentment. Violence. Liam has to keep pulling himself back, reminding himself, _this isn’t me this isn’t me this isn’t me_.

“I don't feel good,” Liam says with a shudder in his voice.

“Payne,” Sutherland warns, the sharpness of his tone making a deep cut into Liam’s patience.

“ _I don't feel good_ ,” he growls, his voice growing deeper than he's heard before. He clamps his mouth shut before the wolf pushes him to say something stupid. He can feel it nudging at him, battling for control. Liam fights it with everything he’s got, curling his fingers into fists to focus on anything other than the dark thoughts the wolf keeps sending him all the ways he can easily destroy Sutherland.

“All -- all right,” Mr. Sutherland stammers, taking a small step back. His pinched face has shifted into something close to fear, and it shakes Liam back to himself, the anger subsiding.

He blinks his mind clear, snatches up his coat, and jumps out of his chair. He can register Sutherland shouting after him as he clears the office. He doesn’t have time to get all the way home, so he runs into the shared loo in the hallway by the lifts, bolting the door shut behind him.

He paces back and forth, taking deep breaths, in through his nose out through his mouth, like he was taught as a kid, hiding in the toilets from bullies instead of hiding himself. _This isn't me this isn't me this isn't me._ There's no need to get angry, it's Liam's fault he got in trouble in the first place.

He fights it with everything he’s got, and it seems to be enough. For now. The worst of the humming inside him fades, replaced with a crashing wave of relief. He doesn't know if he could have gotten away with locking his wolf in a bathroom, if it wouldn’t find a way to knock the door down or if someone wouldn’t eventually unlock the door and release the wolf.

There's a tug on the locked door, then a knock. Liam's head jerks at the intrusion. It's Bruce from Accounting, the scent of his cologne and lunchtime curry attacking Liam’s senses cruelly.

“Occupied,” Liam snaps and he can hear the force of his voice has Bruce scurrying away.

He cranks the sink on, jerking his hand away when he realizes he's crushed the knob. He pokes at it a little to see if the water will turn back off, but it’s a lost cause. He splashes water on his face, the cold providing minimal relief. He keeps himself locked in there until he doesn’t feel the wolf at all -- could be minutes, could be hours. He has to leave the faucet going at full blast behind him.

He keeps his head down and runs the whole way home.

\--

“Get up,” Louis says, smacking at Liam’s foot.

Liam mumbles, “I am up,” even though he pretty much isn’t. He peeks an eye open at Louis, can hear his heart thumping erratically. He’s nervous. Liam frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s only gone seven and you’re already asleep,” Louis says.

“M’not asleep,” Liam says, shifting to sit up in his bed.

“I haven’t seen you leave this room in a week except to go to work.” He folds his arms across his chest like he's personally offended by the fact.

“Work’s been mad,” Liam says, which isn't much of a lie. He's been pulling overtime for free to make up for his lost calls from falling asleep and hiding regularly. He can't afford to lose his job.

“We’re going out, c’mon,” Louis says, tugging at his foot. Liam won’t be budged.

Liam blinks at him. “It’s a Tuesday.”

 _“Tequila_ Tuesday, two shots for three quid. That's an absurdly affordable deal, Liam, and it would be irresponsible of us to pass on this fiscal opportunity.”

Liam makes a face. A club. Full of loud noises and rank smells and lots of people. That's just. Perfect. “We could order in a curry.”

“We’re getting wankered because I'm quitting my shit job tomorrow,” Louis says, but he promises to quit his shit job at least once a week. Liam would support him, it's just that he never goes through with it.

“I haven't seen you in a week, Liam. You look like you’re wound so tight you’re going to burst,” he says softer. Louis doesn’t know how right he is, but the softness in his voice causes Liam’s heart to twitch. His final plea hits Liam hard. “Come with me.”

Liam agrees because he's an idiot and because Louis asks him to. He spends the entire walk to the club telling himself he's not allowed to do anything stupid. Stupid technically starts at walking in the club in the first place, but Liam will start counting stupid after they've crossed the threshold.

It's a shitty club because Louis likes shitty clubs and cheap booze and sweating bodies and loud music. Liam liked those things too, but now they worry him. He has to take a minute to grip the back of a chair and calm himself. He can't get overwhelmed. He’s been doing well since the near outburst at work, no real close calls. It’d be a shame to stain his record now.

 _This is a big fucking mistake_ , he thinks to himself, grinning instinctively back at Louis when Louis grins at him. They wind their way back to the bar and Louis puts a tenner down for three shots each.

 _This is also a big fucking mistake_ , he thinks as downs the first of his shots. But he feels nothing -- just the burning sensation down the throat, but no feeling of warmth in his stomach after. No pleasant buzz, no looseness. He tosses down the next one just in case.

“Aw, come on,” he complains at the empty shot glass.

It's just as well he can't get drunk, though it’d have been nice to just _relax_ for once. He doesn't exactly want to lose his composure in a place like this. It's a full house, nowhere you can go where you're not practically pressed up against someone else. Easy targets.

Liam slams the shot glass down and shakes his head clear. Thoughts like those scare him the most.

“You're so fucking wound up, Payno,” Louis shouts, eyes already looking a little glassy. Two of his three shots are empty already as well. “When was the last time you got laid?”

Liam sours, turning a frown on him. Since before the Blood Moon, not that he’s going to tell Louis that. “So that's what this is really about.”

“Yeah, mate,” Louis says, thumping a hand hard against his back, sending little tingles down Liam's spine every time he unknowingly connects with the scar. “It'll be good for you. Go on and have a dance.”

“I thought you wanted to spend time with me,” Liam pouts.

“I do,” Louis says softly, inching forward to speak a little closer to Liam's ear. “But so does she, I'll bet.”

Liam follows his gaze out to a bird on the floor who keeps turning and sneaking glances at him in time with the music. She smiles when Liam catches her eye so he knows for sure it's him she's chosen. She is gorgeous and it has been a while.

It's the wolf that makes the decision for him, in that he can hear it telling him no. Honestly it's tough shit for the wolf. He’ll dance with pretty girls if he wants to.

“There's a lad, get in,” Louis crows unsubtly as he moves away from the bar towards her.

She keeps dancing, but she turns to face Liam now that he's approaching her. He starts with a slight sway of his hips, walking like he's almost stalking toward her, like he's making his intentions clear. He's had a few smooth moves in his time.

“Fancy a dance?” Liam asks, even though they're already both dancing.

She laughs at him, or maybe with him because he's smiling at his uncanny ability to put his foot right in his mouth. “Yeah,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the music. It's not necessary, Liam can hear every single person in here just fine.

They dance for a few songs, first at each other and then with each other, pressing closer, getting bolder with every song. She's funny when she leans in to chat with him, she's got sharp eyes and killer rhythm. Liam just tries to keep up until they're flush against each other and moving lazily -- until they’re moving quite heatedly -- from side to side. He lets his eyes drift shut, content for a rare moment in his life lately.

 _No_ , something inside him screams. _She's not pack._

The more he struggles against it -- lowers his nose into her neck to scent her, brushes his lips gently against her skin -- the more the wolf fights back, fuzzing his sight, breaking his concentration on moving against her to the pounding bass line.

"Do you want to get out of here?" she says into his ear, running her hand up from his waist to the nape of his neck, stroking at the hair there.

The question snaps a string in Liam’s chest, severing the last bit that holds him together, and the pain of a change starts to creep up through his veins. He nearly loses strength in his knees, faltering a little against her before he can pull himself up.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing. Her hands move to steady him, which, while thoughtful, actually makes it worse. “Do you need some water?” She pauses and squints at him. “Your eyes -- ”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, pulling away. He doesn’t spare a glance back at her as he stumbles for the door. He’s able to catch Louis’ eye briefly and he nods in the direction of the door as best he can. He doesn’t want Louis to worry.

 _You okay?_ Louis mouths at him with a questioning thumbs up, and Liam shakes his head, ducking his eyes to watch the floor as he presses his way through the crowd. Every accidental brush against him feels like a hundred pinpricks to the skin, he’s so wired. He could destroy them all, he realizes, it would be too easy.

The wolf is angry, Liam feels the anger overtake him when it surges for control. He nearly goes for the throat of a bloke who knocks into him, but regains control of himself when the bloke throws out a casual, “Sorry about that, mate.”

The cold air outside the club hits him like a slap in the face, but he stumbles along anyway. The scene feels startlingly familiar, so Liam plays the same part. He rounds the corner to the side of the club, finding a rancid pair of massive bins and bracing himself face first against the brick wall.

It’s worse this time, not like his office. It takes him over so quickly he doesn’t think he can fight it off. He breathes deep and ragged, battling the change anyway with every exhale.

Liam senses him before he even says anything.

“Are you following me?” Liam asks, turning away to peer at Harry.

“Yes,” Harry answers easily, no trace of shame in his tone. His honesty shocks Liam so much he laughs. Harry dimples a small smile down at him, his arms reaching out to pull Liam to him as his laugh turns into a grimace. “Hey, I gotcha.”

“Think I’m in trouble.” He’s shaking in Harry’s arms, desperately pressing his nose into the crook of his neck to breathe in his calming scent. He remembers this, this feels right, but it won’t stop the pain. “Don’t wanna change.”

"You're too far gone, can’t stop it," Harry murmurs, pulling back so his thin fingers can pluck the buttons of Liam's shirt open and peel it off his shoulders. "Don't fight it. Do you remember?"

"Yeah," Liam breathes and starts to work on his jeans, his hands barely functioning enough to get them down his legs. He doesn’t want to fight it anymore, he just wants it to be over.

"Liam, what the _hell_ are you doing!" Louis shouts, having appeared from nowhere, and he’s stalking towards them just as Liam's gone completely naked.

“No,” Liam whispers, looking desperately up at Harry. _Not Louis_ , he pleads silently. Harry nods, taking Liam’s jeans, shoes, and shirt in his hands.

"Are you about to fuck this bloke in an alleyway?" Louis asks, propping a hand on his hip. “Because this isn’t what I meant.”

Something warm strikes him at the question, blossoming out from his chest and running down into his fingers and toes. For a moment, the pain subsides and the shifting under his skin steadies. Harry’s just watching him, not distracted in the slightest by Louis’ presence. Once he tears his eyes from Liam’s to deal with Louis, the pain comes rushing back, slamming into Liam so hard that he lets out a cry. Louis starts, his eyes wide with fear, and Liam keeps fighting.

"You need to leave, mate," Harry says, handing Liam’s pile of clothes to Louis. "Take these back to your den."

"The hell I am, _mate_ , dunno who the fuck you think you are," Louis growls, snatching up Liam’s things while trying to press past him. Harry stands in his way, strong and immovable. Louis looks around him anyway. "Liam, we need to go home. Let's get you dressed, yeah?"

“Can’t,” Liam can barely say. He sinks to the pavement as his back starts to spasm, his knees scraping on the asphalt. He shifts his eyes between Harry and Louis, standing off against each other, both looking like they’re ready to go to war over him. He can’t let that happen. “Harry, please.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Harry says before he gently takes Louis’ chin in his hand. Louis looks murderous, but his face softens into something passive once Harry starts talking again. “You need to go home now. Liam will be safe with me, I promise you.”

There’s a strength in his voice, a warmer, deeper timbre that seems to strike the two of them. Liam melts, his head turning instinctively like he’s waiting for Harry to scent his neck. Harry doesn’t, though; when Liam looks up at the two of them, Harry’s just looking at Louis.

Louis looks dazed, but he starts to back away as Harry asked him to. He doesn’t spare Liam a glance, just keeps shuffling away, almost robotically. Liam can’t dedicate much time to deconstructing how empty Louis looks, how wrong his face looks when it’s blank, not twisted in some sort of expression.

Harry turns back to him, yanking his jumper up over his head quickly and dropping it to the ground. “You can go, I’ll follow,” he says, pressing a reassuring hand to Liam's cheek for just a moment before he starts undoing his trousers. “I’ll be right behind you, okay? Won’t leave.”

Liam nods, dazed, pleased Harry is with him. He stops fighting.

\--

Liam wonders if wolves like to snuggle, and that’s the reason he wakes up pressed against Harry’s back for the second time in as many changes. Liam rolls away from Harry onto his back, even though there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to. It’s the part of him that fights for control until Liam loses it, so he’s not exactly in a hurry to give into it.

Liam doesn’t know a damn thing about Harry, other than his obvious wolfy inclinations. And he’s a bit of a stalker, Liam realizes, admitted as much himself when he showed up out of nowhere last night to help Liam through the change. Liam’s appreciative, if not a little weirded out by it.

He’s weirded out by the lot of it, he thinks as he stretches his limbs. However many hours ago, everything about him was something entirely different. A wolf. He didn’t have these hands or these legs or this mind. They were stolen from him, slowly, painfully, until he had another body and another mind.

“You’re thinking far too hard, Liam,” Harry says, startling Liam a little. Liam hadn’t even registered the shift in his breath that means he’d woken up. “S’too early for that kind of thing.”

Liam apologizes, even though he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong. Harry shifts, rolling over to press himself back into Liam’s space.

“What’s going on up there?” Harry asks.

Liam can see his green eyes are sleepy behind the curtain of his tangled hair. He doesn’t think twice before he’s reaching his fingers out to scoop up some of Harry’s hair and push it away from his face. Harry doesn’t react, like it’s a perfectly normal thing for Liam to have done.

“Why don’t I feel it when I change back?” Liam asks, even though he figures he should be glad to be spared the change.

“The wolf bears that pain,” Harry explains easily, the way you explain why the sky’s blue. If you knew why the sky was blue. “The price paid for its freedom.”

He doesn’t think it’s a fair trade, Liam losing his whole life so the wolf can get a few hours in. He sits up, dragging his knees in to hug his legs. It’s going to ruin his whole life. He can’t afford to get mad like he did at work, he can’t ever kiss someone else like he wanted to last night. He’s faced with a mountain of things he can’t do, and the new things he can do aren’t doing him much good.

He can feel the wind blowing, but he doesn’t feel cold. He rarely feels cold anymore, which is both convenient on Liam’s behalf and suspicious on Louis’ behalf on the nights their heaters don’t turn on. Being a human furnace isn’t worth it.

“Are you all right?” Harry asks gently.

Liam shakes his head. Harry sits up, gently guiding Liam to him until Liam’s face has reached the crook of his neck, the place Liam thinks he belongs, buried in Harry’s scent. Liam breathes Harry in deep and sighs him back out, feeling calmer and safer by the moment.

Liam trusts him. He’s known him a collected half-hour as a human, two full nights as a wolf, and Liam trusts him implicitly. It should scare him but it doesn’t. Harry holds Liam for as long as he needs and Liam isn’t scared.

They rise to their feet eventually, Liam wiping pointlessly at the dirt all over him as Harry wanders off toward the door. He crouches down to a trunk-sized lockbox by the door and Liam gets a view of Harry’s bum that’s got him turning away in the interest of modesty. Liam covers himself as well, though it’s a bit late for that. He’s never been much of an exhibitionist, but there’s something about this whole werewolf thing that makes him forget he’s running around naked as the day he was born.

“You keep clothes here?” Liam asks when he sneaks another peek at Harry and sees that’s what he’s pulling out of the box.

“My wolf likes it here,” Harry answers. “So I plan accordingly.”

Liam nods, dazed, and looks out at the view of the city for the first time. It’s stunning in the hazy light of dawn, so Liam can imagine how beautiful the view is lit up at night. He wonders if the wolves have a concept of beauty.

He wonders how they do it, as well, manage to stick to the shadows in a big city, find their way up to rooftops to howl at the moon. If Harry’s been doing this a while like Liam thinks he has, it’s a miracle he’s not been caught yet. Unless it’s just like the police said when he was bitten. It’s easier to pretend you didn’t see something absurd, explain it in any way that doesn’t sound completely mad. Liam’s shifted twice and he still doesn’t believe it some days.

“Here,” Harry says from behind him.

He looks back at Harry, who’s offering him a pair of trackies and a hoodie of his own. He looks beautiful, like the city, and soft, in a way that Liam is envious of. He’s made peace with his changes. If Liam can’t stop the changes from happening, he’d at least like to find the peace Harry’s found.

Liam thanks him quietly and dresses himself. Harry takes his turn watching the city wake up, and Liam’s grateful for the privacy. He still feels on edge, even though he’s a little more settled now, clothed and looking like a person again. He rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder and mumbles, “Sorry. Could you just -- ?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says and moves for him. He pulls Liam into him again, but this time, presses his own face to Liam’s neck, tracing a small path with his nose, almost tickling him. Liam gets his hands on Harry’s hips, grounded by his grasp and by Harry’s nose in his neck.

Liam’s grateful Harry always seems to know what he needs, when he needs to scent Harry or the reverse. Liam’s never been too intimate before the change, but now he doesn’t want to be separated from Harry. Harry’s basically a stranger, but he doesn’t scare Liam. It’s not one of the worst side effects of the change, Liam admits.

Eventually he drops a light kiss to Liam’s neck, so quick Liam’s not even sure it happened, and pulls away to say, “Let’s get you home.”

They walk home in silence, not in much of a hurry. Liam's still got a few hours before he needs to get to work, and he's not exactly sure about Harry, although Harry doesn't seem bothered.

“I'm sorry,” Liam says eventually.

“For what?” Harry sounds confused and Liam's cheeks pink.

“Changing last night,” Liam explains, feeling stupid and small. “You came to save me again.”

“I'll always come,” Harry promises. It sounds ridiculous and comforting to Liam's ears. They don't even know each other. “Never apologize. The shift is not your fault.”

“I know I can't control it, and it scares me. The things the wolf wants.” Liam cuts himself off with a shake of his head, preparing himself to say what's been eating at him for two weeks. “What if I do something? I mean the wolf. What if the wolf does something and I can't stop it?”

Harry stops walking, tugging at Liam's hand to get him to stop too. His eyes look dark in a way Liam's only seen in his dreams, and it's not a good look on him.

“I will do everything I can to help you control it,” Harry says seriously. His intensity is almost worrying, but his face softens quickly into a reassuring smile. He starts moving again, doesn't let go of Liam's hand. Liam doesn't fight it. And he doesn't ask Harry how he knows the way to Liam's flat.

A thought twitches in Liam’s mind about control, about Harry, who seems to have so much of it for himself and for others.

“That thing you did to my mate Louis last night,” Liam starts, but Harry cuts him off.

“I don’t do that, I never do that,” Harry says fiercely. “Only emergencies.”

“Can I do that to people? Is that a wolf thing?” Liam asks warily. That’d just be one more thing about being a goddamn werewolf that he's got to worry about, being in control of people whether he wants to be or not.

He looks over at Harry, but Harry won’t look at him. “It is a... _wolf thing_ , but, no, you can’t,” he answers, and that’s a relief.

"How'd you do that to him?" Liam remembers being affected by it too, even though the direction wasn't for him. He's not sure what it was he was feeling. It wasn't so much obedience that had him bearing his neck as it was... deference.

"It's a pack thing," Harry says, too vague to actually explain anything.

Liam gets why it affects himself, then. Harry says pack and Liam immediately understands what it means. "Yeah, but it's Louis."

“Louis is pack,” Harry says, which makes Liam’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Harry’s voice is clipped like he doesn’t want to keep talking about it. That just doesn’t work for Liam.

“He’s like us?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, pack isn’t always wolves.”

Liam figures he knows why Louis’ a part of his own pack. He and Louis have been mates for ages, closer than close, and all. He’s just not sure where Harry fits into it. “I’m part of your pack, then?”

Harry pulls at his lips before answering. “Yes.”

“How do you know?” Then a horrible thought occurs to Liam. “You didn’t like… not to be rude, but you didn’t bite me, did you?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, “Liam, no, I’m sorry. I don’t know who bit you, but I promise you, my pack, we’re... We don’t do that sort of thing. We aren’t allowed.”

“You aren’t allowed to make more of you? Hate to say it, mate, but somebody didn’t get the memo,” Liam argues, indicating himself, like he’s saying _well, I’m here_.

“No, it’s,” Harry pauses and considers his words. “I wasn’t bitten. Almost none of us are. I was born like this.”

Liam’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Harry’s pack is a great big family of werewolves? “What?”

“ _I’m on the right track_ ,” Harry adds, his tone strained for some reason. “ _I was born this way_.”

It takes Liam a second before he gets it, shoving at Harry impatiently. Making jokes when Liam’s trying to be serious. Liam’s trying to _learn_ and Harry’s just pleased with himself.

“Seriously, Harry,” Liam starts, but Harry interrupts him.

“Just put your paws up, Liam.” He waits impatiently for a reaction. “Is it too soon for that kind of humor? You’re one of us now, that opens you to a whole new world of comedic material.”

“Harry,” Liam says again, just as impatiently. He’s not in the mood for Harry to lean on jokes to get out of helping Liam figure out what the bloody hell has happened to him. If Harry’s adopting him into his pack, if Harry’s going to follow him around to swoop in whenever Liam’s about to lose it, if Liam can’t do this on his own…

“All right,” Harry gives up with a roll of his eyes. “Ask another seven hundred questions, I promise I’ll answer at least three of them.”

“Your parents are wolves?”

“My father is, yeah. It’s genetic, like. My sister is too. There are families that belong to my pack. We’ve got a den, a place where we all live together. There’s like a system in place, y’know, to teach the kids how to change safely when it’s time. And we support each other.”

“And what about people like me? They just get adopted into packs, then?”

“Bitten wolves, they're.” Harry chews on his bottom lip as he thinks it through. “Different. They're an anomaly. Most of them don't survive the bite.”

“Oh good,” Liam says, his voice sarcastically light. He could have died, that’s just brilliant. “That's me, that's what they've always said about me, I'm an anomaly. There goes human anomaly Liam Payne.”

“Anomaliam?” Harry suggests, and that has Liam cracking up for real.

“I like that,” Liam laughs. “I’m changing my twitter name when I get home. Anomaliam.”

Harry grins at him, so bright and sure that Liam can’t help but notice the way it falters slightly when Liam asks, “So you picked me? For your pack.”

“Yeah, I picked you,” he says, nudging Liam’s shoulder with his own.

In spite of the flicker in his smile, Liam can’t help but be satisfied at his answer. It’s almost a relief talking to someone else so openly about what’s been hanging over his head for weeks. And he’s glad that it’s Harry who’s going to help him out. Because when Harry says he’ll do it, Liam believes him. Liam doesn’t have to be alone.

Liam nudges back and says, “What you’re trying to say is I'm special, then.”

“Yes, Liam, you're very special.” It sounds like it could be a joke, but something in Harry's tone suggests that it isn't.

\--

Harry’s put his phone number in Liam’s phone as _HARRY._ \-- all caps and a period at the end, genuinely -- and he’s asked Liam to call him any time he thinks he’s in trouble, anytime the wolf starts to come back. He swears he’ll come for Liam, he’ll drop everything he’s doing and come for Liam. Liam stares at his name in his phone at the top of his list of H names in awe.

“I don’t think I’ve been here before,” Harry says, nosing through the air with a curious face. Liam almost laughs at how much he looks like a dog until he realizes what it is that Harry must smell.

“You admitted to being a bit of a stalker, didn’t you?” he laughs nervously.

“Well, yeah, but I never came in,” he says too casually for what they’re talking about. He wanders a little closer to Liam’s bedroom door, his head cocking to the side.

“Um. Would you like a cup of tea before you go?” Liam prompts quickly, turning so Harry couldn’t see his cheeks pink if he looked at him. He’d have thought by now the shirt’s scent would be at least a little dampened by Liam’s.

“Yes, please,” Harry answers, turning swiftly back toward the kitchen with a little smile on his face.  “Also, technically, the word _stalker_ , I think, implies malicious intent, like violence and such. So I was _following you_ , yes, but only because I was trying to help.”

“Yeah?” Liam keeps his head ducked and fills the kettle with water, only looking up to sneak little peeks at Harry as he putters around Liam’s kitchen.

“You’re pack,” Harry says, poking at a few of the pictures Liam has magnet-stuck to his fridge. He lingers on one of Liam and his dad, a shot from the disastrous time they went fishing a few years ago.

Liam’s hands pause, holding the kettle over the stove. How’s he supposed to keep this from his parents?

“Changing is hard, you’re new,” he adds, his voice hardened for an argument that Liam’s not prompting, sharp enough to startle Liam. He wonders if Harry’s had to give it before. He remembers then how reluctant the other bloke, Niall, had been that Harry wanted to help him.

“Nobody’s meant to do this alone. That’s why we have a pack.” Harry comes up behind Liam to take the kettle from Liam’s hands and place it on the stove for him. He reaches down to light the stove before moving back to rest a soothing hand on his arm.

Harry must have understood, then, when he waved Liam goodbye, that Liam was overwhelmed. Liam was scared, he needed space, but he still needed help. He appreciates that Harry isn’t saying it explicitly -- _I followed you to make sure you didn’t lose control and murder a bunch of people_. But he’s sure Harry means that too.

Harry ducks down, buries his face in the crook of Liam’s neck because he always knows what Liam needs. Liam leans his head for better access, his eyes closing slowly, and he can’t help the pull of his lips up into a satisfied smile.

“What the fuck.” Liam’s eyes snap back open to turn and find Louis watching them from the doorway, his face pinched in irritation. Harry looks between the two of them before he steps away.

“I’ll text you later,” Harry says quietly.

“Yeah,” Liam says back, and Harry disappears. Neither Louis nor Liam watch him go.

“You going to tell me what the hell happened last night?” Louis asks sharply, once they hear the front door shut. “Or who that is?”

Liam ducks his head, his face burning in shame. He doesn’t remember much after the change, technically, so there’s not much to tell. But he’s not exactly sure how to explain his behavior, Harry’s appearance, why it is Louis was compelled away from them. He can’t lie to Louis.

“It’s Harry, he’s a new mate,” Liam says eventually.

“Yeah?” Louis prompts, not unkindly. “And what about when he told me to sod off last night? Does he speak for you now?”

He realizes what it must have looked like to Louis, that Liam was given the choice between his best mate and a stranger. And Liam chose Harry.

There’s a twinge in his chest, something telling him this is wrong. Everything about Louis’ tone of betrayal is wrong, everything about Liam keeping quiet is wrong. He’s pack. And this isn’t what pack do. They don’t lie. He understands it so well it hurts him to go against it, but he does. For Louis’ sake.

“Right,” Louis says when Liam doesn’t say anything, but his voice doesn’t cut anymore. He sounds hurt, in a way Liam’s not heard him sound before. Because Liam doesn’t let him get hurt, if he can help it, and now he’s the one that’s done it.

“Tommo,” he attempts, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to follow it up.

“Don’t worry, Liam. I’ll let you keep your secrets.” He stalks out of the kitchen. Liam can feel the anger rolling off him, colored by something deeper than that. It feels like betrayal. “Glad you’re alive,” Liam can hear him mutter crystal clear, even from the other side of the flat.

\--

Harry texts him an invitation to his den just as soon as he clocks out for the day, almost like he knows when Liam gets off work. Liam’s been useless all day, didn’t get anywhere close to his sales quota. He hasn’t, not since the full moon, without working overtime, and the feeling that he’s failed is stressing him out more than the noises and more than his boss.

He’s been running around trying to be the best he can be. The best salesman. The best flatmate and best best mate. The best… werewolf, he guesses, in that he doesn’t want to shift into one. But in reality, his numbers are lower than they were even in his first week on the job. Louis hasn’t spoken to him in over twenty-four hours. He’s always on the edge of changing.

He wants to be somewhere he doesn't have to feel on guard, with someone who knows what he's going through. Someone who can tell him it's going to be okay.

So he goes to Harry’s, unsure of what to expect, considering he refers to the place as his den. He thinks for a second maybe it’s like a cave, like a cool Batcave where he and his werewolf mates live under the city doing whatever it is werewolves like to do. It ends up just being a normal building, five stories of flats, nothing about it that says Werewolf Den. He’s not disappointed, necessarily, it just seems a bit anti-climactic.

He texts Harry when he's outside because there's no buzzer or doorbell he can see. The door opens not twenty seconds after he hits send, and Harry’s standing there with a big grin to greet him. Liam’s breath catches a little, he’s so happy to see Harry. Some of the weight on Liam’s chest lifts, just at the sight of him. He grins back.

When he asks Harry about the lack of buzzer as they ascend the stairs, Harry is quiet for a moment, thinking his answer through before he says, “We don't encourage a lot of visitors.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Harry answers. “We’ve got each other.”

Liam makes a noncommittal noise, wonders if that’s enough, only living their lives with their pack. Does it mean regular people aren’t allowed? If Louis’ pack, but he’s not a wolf, is he still allowed over? Is Louis pack to Harry because he’s pack to Liam? He’s about to spew all of these questions at Harry, those and a million more now that he’s got some sort of guide in Harry, but they’re stopped up by a little girl, no older than five, apparently waiting in the hallway for Harry.

“Hello there, Luxie love, how are you doing this evening?” Harry says.

“I am very well, thank you, Harry,” she says, measured like it’s a taught response. “Is it time for our lesson?” Her big eyes flick between Liam and Harry.

Harry squats down to her level. “I’ve got to take a raincheck. Is that all right? This is my mate Liam, and it’s all his fault.”

“Excuse you, Harry,” Liam says indignantly because he’s not going to take the hit for making a little girl sad, he doesn’t care how big Harry’s smile is when he points it up at Liam.

She nods politely, doesn’t throw a fit, but she looks disappointed and both of them know it.

Liam’s about to offer to let them have whatever lesson they need to -- Liam’s pretty good at keeping himself busy when alone -- but Harry says, “Have you been practicing? We can show Liam all the progress we’ve made so far. He’s quite difficult to impress, but between the two of us, I think we can make it happen. What do you say?”

She agrees with a confident nod of her head and squares her shoulders with a wide legged stance.

She lets out a howl, which Liam absolutely was not expecting, and at the sound of it, he swears his heart is going to break into a thousand little pieces. Her voice is clear and earnest and sweet, holding out the _ooooooh_ vowel until she’s out of breath. She sucks in another breath before turning an expectant look to Liam, not Harry. She’s awaiting judgment, he realizes.

“Marvelous,” Liam says promptly, “Ten out of ten.”

She beams back at him.

“Good job, very lovely,” Harry compliments. “Go on and find your mum or she’ll have my head. What are you?”

“Your good Lux charm,” she whispers, like it’s a secret, before bouncing off down the hallway.

“Is she…?” Liam asks as Harry rises out of his crouch.

“Yeah, we have a few kids here. Sort of hard to explain the change to them, so we start easy. Make it a game until they’re ready for their first change. Teach them how to balance the wolf.”

Liam can't really imagine it, this little girl losing control, becoming something violent and predatory. He doesn't want her to face any of the fears he faces. He doesn't want any of it for her; it breaks his heart.

Harry opens the door to a flat without using a key and gestures him in first. There's not much to Harry's flat, the standard things you'd find for a functional life, but there's nothing that says a person lives here. No magazines on the living room table or pictures on the wall or dirty dishes in the sink. It's not exactly the cozy, warm look Liam expects of a den.

“Don’t spend a lot of time here,” Harry says like he can tell what Liam’s thinking, “mostly upstairs, there’s a sort of common area, but. This is mine, like.” He shrugs. “Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” Liam says, following him around the corner into the sterile kitchen.

“I’ve goooot,” Harry draws out, opening the refrigerator door to peek in. “Eggs. Just eggs. And coffee. Eggs and coffee.”

“Breakfast for dinner,” Liam agrees at the sheepish look on Harry’s face. “Love it.”

“I don’t, um,” Harry trails off, picking at the styrofoam of the egg carton in his hands.

“Encourage a lot of visitors?”

“I prefer to visit, instead of be visited,” Harry says with a shrug.

Liam learns that about him and as much else he can squeeze out of Harry in the time it takes him to make a few poached eggs to go with the almost but not quite stale slices of bread Liam finds in a cupboard. Harry talks slow, he learns, but he’s not sure if it’s because Harry _talks slow_ or Harry talks measuredly, giving himself time to think about and assess what he wants to share with Liam before he actually says anything.

It’s a far cry from Louis, who says whatever comes to the top of his head as soon as it occurs to him. Liam’s a bit like that too, blabbing his thoughts whether he should or shouldn’t. It’s served the two of them well so far -- until all of this happened to Liam, that is. He gets flashes of guilt whenever he thinks about it, so he redoubles his efforts on Harry’s monologues where he can.

Harry’s mum lives up in Cheshire with his step-dad, the two of them living wolfless lives in peace. They’re still pack, he says, just like Louis. His sister travels the world, visiting other packs like she’s some sort of ambassador. He doesn’t say where his dad is. Harry spends his days working for the pack in some way, squirrelly about what exactly.

Eventually Harry gets bored of talking about himself once they settle on the sofa to eat, it seems like, because he turns the interrogation to Liam. Liam tells him about his job, about that time he hid in the bathroom. He tells him about not being able to sleep at night. Sometimes Harry gives thoughtful advice, sometimes he just hums empathetically around a bite of toast.

He tells Harry about the dreams, though not the ones Harry’s in -- it’s a little mortifying, he thinks, admitting to dreaming about Harry in his bed, even if it usually ends with violence, and not, like, more fun things. But he tells him about the ones Liam’s afraid are memories from the wolf, times where he feels like a monster, stalking people down streets, salivating for an attack.

“Do you have these sorts of dreams?”

Harry shakes his head, and says his name softly, like it’s full of pity Liam doesn’t want.

“It’s not,” Liam starts, trying to shrug it off. “I know it’s not real, right? Because you wouldn’t let me do those things. I mean, your wolf wouldn’t let my wolf. I remember things, sometimes, and I think you’re there, stopping me.”

“You’ll learn,” Harry says instead of confirming it directly.

“Thought it would get easier,” Liam admits. It’s been weeks, they’re moving swiftly towards the new moon now, but it turns out the moon’s absence in the sky doesn’t really make too much of a difference.

“We’re born with our wolves, we grow with them. There's, like, a relationship,” Harry says, leaning back into the sofa and letting his hands wave lazily as he explains. “Bitten wolves are hungry. Entitled, you know? Your wolf doesn't know you, so you aren't in a balance with it. It's going to fight you for control because it doesn't understand why it can't be free all the time instead of on its night. D’you know what I mean?”

“No, not a clue,” Liam says honestly.

“It’s like. It’s not supposed to be you versus the wolf, it’s you _and_ the wolf. Two halves of a whole instead of two sides of a coin. You shouldn’t be in opposition to your wolf, you should be in harmony. You’re an extension of the wolf as much as it’s an extension of you.” Harry pauses and looks up at Liam to make sure he’s following, so Liam nods him along even though it sounds like a load of bollocks. “Do you get moments where you feel the wolf? It’s not, like, talking to you. Because it doesn’t know English or... words, obviously. But it’s there, letting you know how it feels, what it’s thinking.”

Liam does get moments -- when he was dancing in the club with the girl, when he gets angry at work, when he’s lying to Louis. “Yeah. Mostly when it’s pissed at me, to be honest.”

“Right. It’s like, it understands anger. It’s the primal emotions it connects to. Anger, hunger, arousal, protectiveness, stuff like that. With that comes consequences, like violence. Or benefits, like loyalty.”

“Oh, just the good ones, then,” Liam says lightly. He gingerly plucks up one of Harry’s decorative throw pillows -- that honestly looks like it’s never been used -- and gently smothers himself with it. He’ll just become a celibate, well-fed, isolated atop a mountain, Zen Buddhist monk person and never shift into a wolf again. Easy enough.

Harry’s laughing, removing the pillow from Liam’s face and tossing it over his shoulder carelessly. “You’ll be okay,” he says. Liam’s pretty sure it’s his mantra at this point, given how often Harry tells him this, but he’s soothed by it anyway.

“Promise?” Liam asks.

“You’re going to be okay,” Harry repeats firmly, but it doesn’t sound like much of a promise. There’s no definitive course of action. No data to back it up with. He’s going on Harry’s word alone, and he’s just not sure it’s enough.

Harry shifts, bringing his bare feet up onto the sofa to dig them under Liam’s legs until Liam can feel his toes pressing against his thighs. Liam rolls his eyes at him but secretly relishes the touch, Harry’s attention. It’s not as good as his neck, but Liam can take what he can get.

“Are there other bitten wolves I could talk to? Do you have some here who have made it?”

Harry pulls at his lip, a familiar move that is starting to worry Liam. “No, we don't have any bitten wolves.”

Liam figures they must be rare, then, considering Harry’s so keen to pick up strays like Liam. That Harry’s willing to take him into his pack. Surely if they knew more bitten wolves, they’d be around.

He knows he can do this, he knows he can live with it, if Harry lives with it, if people have families and are willing to pass wolves onto their children. He can do little howling lessons if necessary, he can do it all just to survive if that’s what he has to do. If there’s no going back now.

“I don’t want to fight it. I don’t want to, like. I don’t want to get rid of it because it already exists. Well, I mean, I’d rather not have a wolf, but just checking, there isn’t a cure?”

“No,” Harry says with a small smile, “it’s not something that can be cured. You’re Liam with brown eyes, brown hair, a Brummie accent, and a wolf. It’s a part of who you are now.”

“Right,” Liam sighs. Of course it isn’t. “It’s just. I want to be safe. I don’t -- I don’t think I mind sharing, necessarily; it’d just be really cool if I could work and sleep and stuff without worrying about maiming people, I guess. If that makes sense.”

“Yeah, Liam,” Harry laughs. “That would be really cool.”

\--

On the other side of the new moon, Harry kicks him out.

He’d been dropping by the den after work, bringing groceries to cook a real meal for the two of them or sitting on his sofa to watch films whenever Harry had pack business to attend to without him or napping on the sofa together until the moon rises. They’re engaged in a rather competitive series of Scrabble games that Liam starts studying for during his lunch breaks. Harry teaches him yoga, calming exercises, how to stay awake at work, how to feel out for his wolf to build a relationship. The den’s started to feel like a home to Liam.

Then he goes back to his actual home to sleep for the few hours he can manage, has a few nightmares. He tries to talk to Louis when he sees him in the kitchen or the living room, but Louis gives him a cold stare that twists Liam’s stomach tight.

Things are going as well as they can, at least from Harry’s end. Until Harry comes in from his pack meeting and tells Liam he’s being kicked out. Rather, he refuses to let Liam hide out in his den until he fixes things with Louis. He says the tension’s riling up the pack, setting them all on edge. Not that Liam would know, considering Harry won’t let him meet any other pack members.

“M’sorry.” He almost looks it.

“What do I tell him?” Liam asks, trying to keep a desperate tone from his voice.

“Whatever you feel in your heart,” Harry answers unhelpfully.

Liam squints at him impatiently. “Not the truth?”

“He’s pack, Liam,” Harry says roughly, like he’s getting impatient. “You can tell him whatever you want, but you have to fix it.”

Liam’s head drops like he’s been reprimanded, feels the command in his bones. He’s putting the pack in danger by causing a rift in it, even if the pack doesn’t know them.

“Shit, sorry,” Harry says, tugging at Liam’s shoulders until he’s pressed up against Harry, his face carefully directed to rest in Harry’s neck. “He’s important to you, yeah?”

Liam nods, small. The tension between them is just one more reason on the pile of why Liam can’t sleep at night.

“Then it’s not just for the benefit of the pack. Gotta take care of yourself.” Harry pulls him back gently. “You can call me, I’ll come running, if…”

 _If I get upset and the wolf tries to tear his throat out_ , Liam thinks. How kind.

Harry squeezes his shoulders encouragingly before Liam’s willing to go.

He’s got to tell Louis right now, then. He’s got to fix it _right now_ , not five hours from now when the shop’s closed, not if it’s making Harry’s pack miserable. His own pack, he wonders. He’s not even sure they know he’s part of it and he’s causing them pain.

He goes to the coffee shop Louis always says he’s going to quit because Louis hasn’t quit yet. Liam hasn’t heard him mention quitting since the night they went to the club. He almost misses the empty promises.

Louis still puts his shifts on the calendar on the fridge, even though it’s only for Liam’s knowledge. That means something.

But Louis’ face sours as soon as he sees Liam at the front of his queue, doesn’t actually take his order, doesn’t let him pay, just shoves over a cup of his usual, and moves onto the next customer.

“Louis,” Liam tries.

“I’m working,” Louis snaps, pointedly pressing some sort of lever that causes a loud hissing noise to drown out anything Liam could potentially say to him.

“I’ll wait,” Liam says when the noise is over.

“Suit yourself.”

Liam fishmouths at him a bit to try to argue some more, to let him know that he’s come because Louis can’t shut his bedroom door on him here. And, honestly, a bit so Louis can’t make a scene. It’s unfair of him to pick here, but Louis would have to be on his best behavior.

He picks a seat by the window, minds his own business, and sips at his coffee slowly. Louis leaves him sitting there for at least half an hour, long after his cup is empty, and Liam is beginning to think Louis’ going to make him wait the remaining four hours of his shift to close out the store before they’ll talk.

His attention is jerked toward Louis when he can sense Louis’ irritation from clear across the room. On the outside, Louis mostly looks bored as a bloke lets into him, screaming about foam ratios, calling him an incompetent twat. Liam doesn’t like that very much, feels his skin heating up and his wolf rumbling in his chest. It’s challenging Liam to go fight, but he won’t. He can’t.

“Whatever, mate, it’s just fucking coffee. Nobody gives a shit about foam ratio,” Louis says blandly when the guy takes a breath, which is the wrong answer.

The guy picks up the coffee cup and throws it back down on the counter. The lid flies off and the hot coffee goes splashing, coating Louis’ hands where they rest on the counter. Louis recoils with a pained inhale. Liam’s on his feet just as Louis’ hands start to burn red. Louis seems too shocked to do much but gape at the customer, but Liam isn’t. He’s across the shop in a flash, wedging himself between the counter and the bloke. He meets his eyes, the rumbling in his chest so severe he’s sure he sounds like he’s growling.

“The fuck you doing, mate.” The guy looks unimpressed with Liam, nearly sneering.

“You need to go now,” Liam says, his voice surprisingly level for how livid he feels.

“Not going anywhere ‘til I talk to this little shit’s manager,” he says, throwing a point over Liam’s shoulder back at Louis. “So you can get the hell out of my way.”

Liam anticipates the shove before it happens, catches the bloke’s wrists and twists them. He sweeps a leg out and brings him crashing to the floor. Liam goes with him smoothly, hardly registering Louis’ shriek of his name, as he presses the man’s chest to the floor by digging his knee firmly into his back. Liam bends over, his teeth baring a threat as the guy pants in shock.

“Liam, fuck,” Louis says, suddenly behind him and trying to haul him off the guy.

Liam’s too strong, he won’t be moved. He needs to make a point. Nobody threatens his pack.

“Liam,” Louis shouts again, tugging at him, and Liam clues in just as his vision starts to blur and his skin starts to vibrate.

He looks down to the guy he’s crushing on the floor, back up to Louis’ terrified face. Liam jumps to his feet, shifting his arm out of Louis’ grasp.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I.”

Every eye in the room is on him, with the exception of the ones belonging to the wheezing, groaning man on the floor. He feels the impulse to finish the job, to set an example, to make his pack untouchable. So he runs.

It takes him three tries before he can get his mobile to dial Harry.

“Help me,” he gasps into the phone when Harry answers.

“Where are you?” Harry asks, business-like.

“Middle of the street. I can’t do it. Fuck, Harry, there are so many people.”

“Are you close to somewhere safe?”

“Home. Coupla blocks?”

“Liam, run home,” Harry says sharply, a command that sends a shiver down his spine, makes him ache to comply. “I’ll meet you there, Liam, be safe and go home.”

Liam doesn’t wait for the line to click. He takes off as fast as he can, his feet carrying him faster than he’s ever gone before all the way home. He struggles with his keys, his hands shaking so badly, until he can’t do it anymore and he thrusts his shoulder against the door. The door makes an ugly crack as the locks break through the wood and falls open.

As soon he gets to his room, he throws himself towards his dresser, wrenching open the sock drawer for Harry’s shirt, tucked away, unmoved for weeks. He presses his face into it without a care for how stupid he feels. There’s barely enough traces of Harry to focus on, but it helps. That’s one of Harry’s tips, finding something to focus on, like an anchor.

He stands braced against the wooden drawers and takes measured breaths, pleading with the wolf to stop. They need a balance, to listen to each other. Though, it mostly feels like Liam’s ignoring it as much as he can, constantly denying what it wants. There will never be a balance if Liam continually denies it. They’ll never work this way, not in the long run, but it’s enough for now.

He drops the shirt on the floor when he’s done shaking, presses his hands to his knees to stay grounded as he lets out a long breath.

He only gets a few moments of peace, he really should have known better.

He can hear the front door slam, Louis’ voice hollering his name loud and angry. It’s no time at all before Louis thunders into Liam’s room. He’s so mad he could be steaming, sweating and huffing like he ran just as hard as Liam did to get home.

“This has got to stop,” Louis says in between deep, desperate breaths. He’s winded enough that his voice is barely there. “Liam, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to see Louis’ livid face. He knows it’s just going to set him off again.

“Stop apologizing,” Louis snaps, “you wouldn’t need to apologize if you just stopped _lying to me_.”

Liam could show him, it would be easy. He could change right here and Louis would know what he really is. Louis would know his strength, his power. Louis could join him then. Louis could take the bite, Liam knows it, he’d come out alive and stronger for it. Louis could join their pack officially, could run on full moons with Harry and Liam. Louis would be grateful Liam gave him this gift.

He flicks his eyes up to Louis and takes a step toward him.

He’s stopped when pain licks up his body, getting him weak in the knees, all too familiar. He catches himself against his bed before he sinks carefully down to the floor. His body shakes with the pain, worse than the last couple of close calls, something close to what he experienced on the full moon, but not quite.

The wolf is fighting dirty, Liam realizes, twisting his mind until he’s ready to let it take over. Liam fights it with everything he’s got for Louis’ sake. The wolf doesn’t get to have him.  

“What’s happening?” Louis breathes, all traces of anger gone. He drops to the floor next to Liam, concern staining his features. “Are you having a panic attack?”

Liam grabs him desperately, clenching his hands into his back in the coarse material of Louis’ work polo, and presses his face to Louis’ neck to breathe deep. Cigarettes and greasy food and coffee. It’s good, but it’s not enough.

“Liam, mate, you gotta tell me what to do,” Louis says helplessly.

Liam clamps his mouth shut to stifle a grunt of pain that threatens to pass through his lips. He releases his grip on Louis’ back a little when he realizes he might hurt him. He wants Louis to stay, he wants Louis to ground him. He wants to push Louis away too, because he knows Louis can’t help him now. He won’t be safe until Harry comes.

“You’re scaring me,” Louis whispers, his hand snaking behind him to squeeze at the back of his neck.

“M’fine,” Liam manages to say. “Just need some sleep.”

“The hell you’re fine,” Louis says, slapping at Liam’s hands when he tries to push him away.

Liam perks up when he can scent Harry, finally; he feels like he’s been saved as he turns his gaze to the window. Harry’s on the fire escape, perched with his hand on the window like he’s trying to work out how to get it moving from the outside. At this point, Liam doesn’t care if he just breaks straight through the glass.

Louis follows his line of sight and growls, “Fucking unbelievable.” Liam can sense him tense up as his fear gives way to anger again.

“Need him,” Liam huffs. He grips Louis’ wrist and presses his urgency into it. “Please.”

He thinks for a moment Louis isn’t going to do it, that Louis is so mad at him for choosing Harry that he’d keep Liam from him. But Louis is pack, whether he knows it or not, and that means he does what Liam asks.

He struggles to keep his eyes focused as he watches Louis wrench the window up with difficulty, managing to budge it up only a few inches so Harry can get his fingers under it and shove the window the rest of the way with ease. He clambers into the room, completely ignoring Louis, and immediately moves to kneel beside Liam so he can scent him.

“Too late,” Liam says, muffled somewhat by Harry’s hair until he leans back to look at him.

“Liam,” he says gently, swiping the sweat-damp hair back from Liam’s forehead. “Do you want him to know?”

Liam shakes his head, clamping his lips together again to fight the whimper that’s threatening to pass through them. Louis can’t know about this, Louis can’t see him like this, as something horrifying, a monster Liam can’t control.

“You need to go,” Harry tells Louis.

“He’s hurt. I’m not going anywhere, so piss off.”

Harry sighs and moves towards him, his hand already reaching out to do that thing he can do. He’s going to do it for Liam, again, even though he said he hates it, and Liam’s grateful for him.

Louis jerks away, his face murderous. “Don’t you _fucking touch me_.” Harry jerks his hand away like he’s been burned and turns questioning eyes to Liam.

“Louis,” Liam grits out to spare Harry. “Leave me alone.”

Louis’ face falls, all of the fight draining out of him until he’s left looking bewildered, then sad. It doesn’t last long because his face steels up in the next second, his lips pursing as he looks down at Liam with anger. “Fine,” he says, curtly, and it hurts Liam almost as much as the wolf does.

Liam doesn’t exhale until he can hear the front door slam behind Louis. Harry kneels in front of him again, moving like he’s going to let Liam scent him to calm down.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, his eyes round and sad. “Liam, I -- ”

Liam shakes his head, pulls out of Harry’s arms, and lets the wolf take over.

\--

Liam wakes wrapped up in Harry -- not next to him, but truly wrapped around him -- in a place he doesn’t recognize. A garden, it looks like, and they’re tangled together under a tree. He does remember coming here, vaguely. He remembers jumping the wrought iron fence he can see to his right, he remembers chasing after Harry’s wolf, nipping at him, jumping on him. He remembers feeling playful. Free.

It must be nice for his wolf to really kick back, Liam thinks grumpily.  

He’s grateful for Harry, truly, he is, but he thought it’d get easier. He thought Harry was helping him deal. He thought he’d get a hold of himself, that he would stop shifting every time things got a little difficult.

Harry’s eyes are still closed as he turns his head into Liam’s neck, and Liam leans as he always does to give him more access. It’s so easy with them, Liam’s always shocked when he takes a moment to think about it. It must be a wolf thing. He wonders if his wolf likes Harry, if his wolf is as drawn to Harry as he is.

Harry’s told him how it is with his pack when Liam’s tried to apologize for how often he presses himself against Harry like he can’t help it. He’s told him how tactile they all are, how personal boundaries don’t exist. Liam’s never felt that, not with anyone but Louis, really, and even then he’s never been able to justify that until now. It’s because Louis is pack, Harry said it himself.

God, Louis. He’s really fucked things up with Louis.

“I didn’t fix things,” Liam says because he can tell Harry’s awake listening to his breathing. “I made them so much worse.”

“It’s okay,” Harry murmurs.

“It’s not, not if I’m going to hurt the pack,” Liam says, leaving _let alone myself_ to hang in the air. He’s got a whole new group of people to worry about, he’s part of something bigger than himself.

“We’ll fix it,” Harry promises. He just says these things, that things are going to be okay, but he doesn’t ever say how. The only thing that keeps him from asking Harry how is how much he doesn’t want to hear Harry say he doesn’t know. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to confront him. I’m sorry.”

It’s not entirely Harry’s fault when he gets right down to it, too much having been caused by Liam’s own stupid decisions. But he wanted to patch things up with Louis as much as Harry wanted him to.

He shifts his head to bury his nose in Harry’s hair. It’s quite long, his hair, and it does make him look a bit wild, more often than not, with how he wears it, tangled and unruly. Liam won’t deny how much he likes to run his hands through it, and he’s sure Harry can’t deny how he melts slightly at the touch every time.

Harry’s tense a lot, Liam can’t help but notice with how often he’s got his hands on him. He’s got sloth-like posture and an easy, lazy smile, but underneath it all, he’s so tense. It’s a wonder he doesn’t change as often as Liam does -- maybe that’s the secret. He’s like the Incredible Hulk, he’s always angry.

“Why don’t you change as often as I do?” Liam asks.

“You keep everything you feel so close to the surface, you have no choice but to lose control,” Harry explains, like the answer is readily available. He must spend time thinking about it. “The wolf feeds on that, takes advantage of that. Those primal emotions I told you about. It doesn’t know how not to.”

Liam frowns. He can’t just turn that sort of thing off, he can’t just go numb because he’s afraid any emotion is going to trigger a change. “So what are you saying, I just shouldn’t feel anything?”

“That’s how some people manage it.”

He thinks about Harry’s platitudes, Harry’s easy attitude, Harry’s secret tension. “Is that how you manage it?”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He shifts out of Liam’s arms to prop himself up on an elbow. He watches Liam for a while, so long Liam feels like it’s closer to scrutiny than observation.

“I know you feel frustrated, but you’re doing well,” he says when he’s done searching for whatever he was looking for in Liam’s eyes. His eyes switch from sharp to soft so quickly. “You fight it so easily. Better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Doesn’t feel easy,” Liam says. It kind of feels like hell.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight it for more than a minute. Last night you held on for twenty. That’s amazing. Did you know that’s amazing?”

Liam’s cheeks flush like it’s a compliment, but is it really one? He’s particularly gifted at waiting a bit longer, but he still changes. At the end of the day, he still can’t fight what he is.

“Thought you lot said don’t fight it.”

“Everyone fights it, at one point or another,” Harry says and Liam wonders if everyone includes him. “You’re a work in progress, Liam. You don’t have to do it all right the first time because you can’t do it right the first time. Like, you _can’t_. And that’s okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” Liam agrees, but it sounds hollow and he can’t help that. It’s not that there aren’t any struggles in Liam’s life -- there are things that he’s bad at and things he’s got to work to figure out. But none of them are as hard as this. Or as important. And to fail at them seems to mean dire consequences, for himself and for anyone who crosses his path. He can’t afford not to get it right.

Harry doesn’t call him on it, just shifts up to his feet and stretches his sleep away. Liam doesn’t look away from him because he’s learned Harry doesn’t have any shame about nudity between pack. He’s long, lean, doesn’t look strong even though he is. Every time Liam looks at him he finds some small tattoo on his arm he’s never noticed before. He’s just littered with them, and it feels like that means he learns something new about Harry, even if he doesn’t know what they mean or what he got them for. He wonders if Harry would let him study them, if he looked at them long enough they’d tell him something about Harry that Harry won’t tell him.

Harry keeps clothing hidden in this garden too, apparently, but Liam doesn’t see where he pulls them from and they don’t smell like him. They walk back to Harry’s den, like there’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them that that’s where they need to be right now.

\--

When Liam finally returns to his place after work, he finds a note from Louis on the refrigerator -- he’s been suspended from work for a week so he’s gone home to Doncaster to see his family. He doesn’t say when he’s coming back.

Liam breaks the kitchen table, severs the pedestal clean in two in a flash of violence he’s not accustomed to. He thinks it means the wolf is going to start fighting for control at any second, but the pain never comes.

“Come on,” he snaps, pacing irritably in the kitchen. He wills the wolf to take over so he doesn’t have to deal with it. The wolf could bear the brunt of the pain and frustration, but it doesn’t seem to want to. It leaves Liam firmly in control with a broken kitchen table and an empty den.

There’s nothing holding Louis here, not if he gets sacked, not if Liam destroys their relationship. He’s always been about his family, in the same way Liam thinks Harry is about his pack. He’s going to lose him either way, he reckons, whether he stays back in Doncaster where he’s safe or whether Liam tells him the truth.

He doesn’t last long, sweeping up the shards of the broken ceramic napkin holder Liam’s mum gave them as a housewarming present before puttering around the flat alone. The table’s a lost cause at this point.

He’s frustrated, restless, sad. So he does what he’s been doing the last three weeks in this situation.

“Heyyy,” Harry’s voice says, slow and rough because he’s probably been woken up from his pre-sunset nap.

“Hey,” Liam tries to say as calmly as he can.

It doesn’t end up being very calm at all, he reckons, because Harry sounds alert, worried in the next moment. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m home. Louis left? I’m fine, but I broke the kitchen table,” Liam catalogs numbly.

“Are you going to shift?”

“No, I'm fine,” Liam says, scrubbing his face with his free hand before casting another glance around his empty flat. “I just don't want to be alone.”

Harry makes a sympathetic noise, Liam can hear him shifting a little on the other end of the phone. “Come home,” he offers. So Liam does.

Harry takes his hand as soon as he opens the door, pulling him inside and up the stairs. Liam feels miles calmer just at the touch; Harry always seems to know. Liam stops at the landing for Harry’s floor, but Harry tugs at him to keep going.

When they get to the top floor, Liam's surprised he doesn't find a corridor of flats like the rest of the floors have, but a single door. Harry squeezes Liam's hand and opens the door for him.

It's one massive room, like a penthouse of sorts that you'd see in the movies, full of big black plushy furniture, an absurdly large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, massive windows with the curtains drawn to show the beautiful cityscape, and, most importantly, other people. The common area Harry spoke of, he realizes.

Harry looks unbothered as at least twelve pairs of eyes turn to them. He watches Liam instead, so fixed on his reaction that Liam’s careful not to let his nerves show.

“Would you like to meet my family?” Harry asks with a small smile.

“Love to,” Liam says, and he does.

They're all lovely and he meets them in small doses as Harry parades him around the room. “This is Liam, he's pack,” Harry says every time, like he’s showing Liam off, and they all accept it at Harry’s word. They’re warm and welcoming, like you’d want a family to be.  

They ask him where he's from and how he's enjoying the city, like he's new. Harry doesn't correct them, so neither does Liam. He tries to get what he can from them about their lives as wolves, but they're all stunningly normal, it seems. Have jobs and kids, go to school, get groceries at shops, take holidays at the coast. For a few passing moments, Liam thinks he's going to be okay, like Harry promised.

There's a massive sofa bed in the far corner up next to the window that Harry leads them to last, and it smells so much like him, Liam wonders if this is where he sleeps when Liam’s not around.

“Doing okay?” Harry asks once they’re settled in, pressed pretty close to each other despite the length of the sofa.

“Bit nerve wracking, like meeting the parents,” Liam admits.

“You did great,” Harry says, nosing at his neck a little before resting his chin on Liam’s shoulder until he gets the hint. Liam stretches his arm up and over Harry’s shoulders, inviting him to snuggle in a little closer.

He can see himself living here as he watches Lux and the other little one in the room, Brooklyn, babble at each other about what appears to be a very intricate doll skit. He could go in for babysitting duty. He could make dinner in the communal kitchen on the other side of the room. He could help put up the Christmas tree in a few weeks. This could be his den.

“Am I meant to move into your den? Live with the rest of the pack?” Liam asks.

“ _No_ ,” Harry says sharply, like it’s a knee-jerk reaction, and Liam feels like he’s been punched in the stomach when he looks over at his stricken face. “I mean. You’ve got your own den. With your own pack.”

Louis’ hardly a whole pack -- he’s just the one lad, and he’s pissed at Liam. Eternally pissed at Liam. It’s hard to lie to him every day, it’s hard to look at his face and refuse to tell the truth. Not that he has to do that anymore.

“I thought I should maybe be around people like me,” Liam says. He should find a home here where people understand him. He would still spend his days counting down the minutes until he got to see Harry, but he wouldn’t have to leave at the end of the night. He could just stay here, maybe in Harry’s flat. “Also I don’t like to be separated from you.”

“That’s just, that’s natural, because I’m. Because who I am to the pack.” Harry’s face flushes, embarrassed in a way Liam’s never seen him get before. “That’s a pack thing, trust me. It’s not a me thing.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a you thing,” Liam says because he doesn’t know anyone from the pack, really. It’s Harry. It’s Harry who comes to rescue him, who calms him, whose shirt he keeps in his room, who he thinks about constantly, who he wakes up next to the morning after. Harry who he’d like to wake up next to any morning, not just the wolf ones.

Harry’s face is inscrutable looking up at Liam, and he wonders if he’s said the wrong thing.

“Harry,” Niall says sharply, gaining both of their attention at once, their heads moving in synchronization. “David’s asking after you.”

Liam’s not in the habit of being snuck up on lately, but he’s still startled by Niall’s sudden appearance in front of them. Niall’s watching the two of them carefully and shifts one of the duffle bags he’s got off his shoulder to hang in his hand.

“Who’s David?” Liam asks as Harry starts scooting off the sofa, leaving Liam cold where he used to press up against him.

“Pack leader,” Harry says absently. He pulls at his lips, his mind clearly churning about something. “I’ll, um, you can stay at mine?” He passes Liam a quick smile that doesn’t look as genuine as it normally does before he leaves without a response.

“Shouldn’t I meet him?” Liam asks Niall. “As he’s the leader and all?”

Niall throws the dufflebag at him, and Liam catches it easily and quirks an eyebrow up at him. “Nah,” Niall says. “Come with me.”

\--

Niall laughs easily. Which honestly comes as a relief to Liam, who thought Niall was, in his limited experience with him, quite serious and unimpressed by the world. He appears to only be unimpressed by Harry, which Liam doesn’t particularly understand, but he also doesn’t argue against.

They don’t talk about wolves or packs or changes for the longest time, just the stuff mates would talk about: music, football, food. Talking to Niall is easy. Not that talking to Harry isn’t also easy, they never run out of things to say to each other, but Harry has this level of intensity that unnerves Liam sometimes.

Once they crack through the awkwardness of being relative strangers, Liam finds it’s easy to trust Niall, like he imagines he would with pack.

“What are we doing?” Liam asks eventually, looking down at the bag in his hand. They’d left the den some time ago, appearing to just take a stroll down a few streets Liam’s never really been before. He’d just followed Niall because he asked him to, because Niall is pack. He’s enjoying his quality time with him, but he doesn’t want to spend too much time away from Harry, not with how they left things.

“Full moon’s in a week, yeah?” Niall says. “Gotta restock.”

He nods his head toward the next alleyway before the two of them turn into it. They travel about halfway down before Niall kneels in front of an inconspicuous looking black metal box. It does look familiar to Liam. He doesn’t realize what it is until Niall works a four digit code into a lock hidden under a flap and pops the box open. It’s got a couple of pairs of joggers in it and a hoodie. Harry had one of these on the roof he said his wolf favors, and likely one at the garden from this morning.

“We keep these all around the city,” Niall says as he unzips his dufflebag to place a couple of jumpers, a sports bra, and a blanket into the box. “You’ll learn where your wolf likes end up in the morning and we can get you a few.”

That’s brilliant, that is, explains why he doesn’t ever see reports of streakers running rampant around town the morning after the full moon.

Niall pops the box shut and gives the lock a few swipes so the code’s gone. “Though I suspect there are already supply boxes where you wake up.” He raises his eyebrows knowingly at Liam as he zips the bag.

A look like that makes Liam think Harry tells him every time he has to run off and save Liam. He supposes he’s a little embarrassed that Niall knows Liam’s gotta have his hand held every time he gets a little testy.

Maybe Harry’s like that for all of them, a rock when they need him to be because he’s strong, always in control. Maybe while Liam’s learning, they can all be that, Harry and his pack of found family.

“So you're Irish,” Liam says after they’ve visited their fourth box.

“Noticed that, did ya?” Niall lifts an amused eyebrow.

“I just mean to say,” Liam says with a flush, “you didn't grow up here, I suppose? So I was wondering how you found the pack.”

“Me family’s pack, wasn't for me,” Niall says. “You can tell, y’know, when a pack’s your pack, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He feels it with Harry, he feels it in the den. Feels like home.

“Some of us try to stick it out, but it doesn't ever feel right. Some of us try to find our packs, if we can. Some of us are lone wolves.” Niall bites at his thumb, looking stressed. “Was real worried about that, spending the rest of my days a lone wolf. But Harry found me. Like he knew just where to look.

“It’s hard, when you realize the pack you think is your own really isn’t. It’s hard to leave home. Harry knows, like, you know he’s from Cheshire? But this was his da’s pack, so he stays here. I mean, it’s deeper than that, like, this is _his pack_ , so he can’t leave it. But I didn’t have one, not until I met Harry. My da was pretty upset, but he understood when he met Harry. Knew I’d be in good hands.”

Liam understands the feeling, how inexplicably quickly he came to trust Harry, how he knew Harry would be there for him no matter what.

“Is Harry some sort of, like, pack ambassador for David, then? Going out and adopting people who belong?”

Niall tilts his head, a small confused frown on his face that makes Liam think he’s asked the wrong thing. “How much has Harry told you about what he is to our pack?”

“Not much?”

He knows he helps the little ones, spends a lot of time dealing with pack business, but he figured that might have been the standard for some of them. It’s not like he knows what Niall does all day.

“Thought so, that little shit.” Niall rolls his eyes -- disappointed but not angry.

Liam blinks at him. “What?”

“Harry was born an alpha, a pack leader, that’s why he can do the things he does, the special things me and you can’t do. You feel it, right?”

Liam does, he looks to Harry for answers, regards him with deference. Intrinsically, like second nature. He gets it as soon as Niall tells him, like Harry could never have been anything else. It’s not an unnatural jump for Liam to think Harry is meant to take care of all of them. He takes care of Liam.

“Yeah,” Liam says slowly.

“He’s in some sort of denial about taking over leadership of the pack,” Niall says. “It’s a lot of responsibility, y’know, but it’s not like he has a choice. Longer he runs from it, the harder it’ll be to lead when the time comes. We’ll be vulnerable without him.”

He is a little bothered Harry wouldn’t tell him, kept something this big from him. But then he remembers Harry’s disdain towards what he did to Louis outside the club, how dark his face had grown at the thought of controlling someone. It’s a big responsibility, doing whatever it is he has to do lead their pack.

“That sounds massive,” Liam says reasonably.

“It is,” Niall agrees. “But you trust him, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Liam says. With his life. With other people’s lives, too, he guesses, when the wolf is in control.

Niall nods, satisfied. “You should let him know.”

He will, if only to let Harry knows he understands, that Harry can trust him as much as he trusts Harry. That Harry doesn’t have to go it alone, not if Liam can help it, not if this is how Liam can repay him.

\--

Liam hasn’t fallen asleep at his desk since the last time he got caught, but he’s pretty likely to do so tomorrow if he doesn’t get his nap in before the moon rises in a few hours. It’s amazing the things he’s adjusted to and the things he hasn’t. He can run on five to six hours of sleep, a few hours before sunset, a few hours around sunrise, when the moon’s not tugging him awake like a kid who’s too anxious for presents on Christmas morning.

He can fall asleep next to Harry, rise to be a night owl, and fall back asleep beside Harry until he has to go to work. Usually.

Tonight he’s peeled back the blackout curtains in Harry’s living room to watch the sunset with his phone in his hand, lying to himself that at any moment it’s going to buzz with an answer to the _doing ok ?_ text he sent Louis six hours ago.

Once the moon shines bright and nearing full in the sky, he can hear Harry’s breathing change, the little _Liam?_ he calls out when he realizes Liam isn’t there.

Liam pads back into Harry’s room, careful to slide his phone back into his back pocket so Harry doesn’t know he’s been messing with it. Harry keeps telling him to give Louis time and space, but Liam’s never been very good at that.

“C’mere,” he says, holding his arms out until Liam trudges over and flops himself onto the bed. “You sleep at all?”

“A bit.”

Harry hums a little like he knows Liam’s lying but he’s going to let it go. He starts to poke and prod at Liam until he’s braced himself against the wall, his legs jutting out so Harry can rest his head comfortably in his lap. Harry stares up at him with the focused, scrutinizing eyes that unnerve him a little.

Liam pulls at little groups of Harry’s hair, draping them purposefully over his face to interrupt his gaze, stretching them as long as they’ll go. Some of them can reach as far as the dip of his neck as it turns into his chest. It’s not an overwhelmingly fascinating revelation, but he keeps messing with Harry’s hair because Harry keeps letting him.

Harry trusts him to be this close, to play with his hair and fall asleep in his bed, but he wonders how much that trust extends beyond the physical. Liam tells him everything -- for the most part at least -- shares every thought, every fear. It’s not easy, admitting he needs help, but it’s worth it.

“Niall told me you’re an alpha?” he starts.

Harry closes his eyes, purses his lips even though it doesn’t stop him from releasing a sigh. He picks himself off Liam’s lap and sits up next to him. Liam fights the urge to pull him back in, but Harry looks uncomfortable, so he does nothing.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Harry tells his knees.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not any different, I’m not any more special than anyone else in the pack. Harry wrings his hands. “It’s just a thing, it’s just a part of who I am, but it’s not everything. M’not any different.”

“But you are different,” Liam argues with a confused frown. No one Liam’s met in this pack, in his whole life is like Harry.

“Liam -- ” Harry tries, but he stops up when Liam takes his hand and gives it a firm squeeze.

“You’re so strong, Harry. You make me feel safe when I’m scared or worried. Couldn’t do this without you. Don’t tell me anyone else could do the same for me. I won’t have it.” He raises a threatening finger to Harry, who cracks a small, almost indulging, smile.

“It’s just. It’s a lot.”

“Tell me.”

Harry squints at him, and there’s something critical in it. He must find what he’s looking for in Liam’s face because he starts to slowly explain himself. Liam waits quietly, patiently, finally privy to something truly personal about him.

“I don’t feel any different than the rest of you? Like I can do some things, I’ve got a few extras, y’know, but what does that even mean to anything, at the end of the day. Dunno what it is about me that makes people think I can lead, other than, like, my biology.”

“It’s not just biology, Harry,” Liam disagrees immediately. “I’ve only spent a few hours with your pack and I can tell. They care about you, look up to you, and it’s not because they have to. I felt that way about you before I even knew what you are.”

Harry’s pulling at his bottom lip, frowning at Liam like he’s going to disagree. He’s seen Harry pull at it so much it bleeds, and he’s not even sure Harry’s aware he does it. So he tugs at Harry’s hand until it stops worrying at his lip, smooths his thumb lightly over his lips where they’ve gone red, and drops his hand when he’s sure Harry’s not going to go back to messing with it. Harry watches every movement of his fingers with a focus so strong his eyes look dark.

“Even my wolf gets it,” Liam says. “It’s an arsehole, but not when it comes to you.”

“Are you getting more from your wolf now?” Harry says, and Liam lets him change the subject.

“I feel some things, like I feel drawn to you, trust you,” Liam explains. Harry looks up at him at that, his expression inscrutable. “Just impressions of feelings, but the rest of it is a massive question mark. I mean I don’t even know what it looks like.”

“I can take its picture. If it’ll sit still for more than a few seconds.” Harry shakes his head, nearly looking like he’s about to cluck his tongue in disapproval. “Your wolf paces. Constantly. It’s restless, excitable.”

“Yeah?”

“They say it’s a bit of a reflection of you, sort of intensified?” Harry says with a wry smile. “Which is honestly a crock of shit because Niall says my wolf is like a stodgy old man and everybody knows I’m delightful, full of both joy and laughter.”

“Of course you are,” Liam agrees easily.

“Thank you, Liam,” he says and gives his kneecap a light squeeze.

Liam wonders if that’s enough, if he should have been a little more explicit. He can work up to it, show Harry how much he trusts him as an alpha as much as he tells Harry.

“Do you still feel scared?” Harry asks suddenly. “About being a wolf?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Liam admits. “It’s like I don’t know what happens to me, when I change. I don’t know anything about the wolf or what it does or what it’s like, not really. I get scared when I think I might lose control, like sometimes I worry I’ll change and I won’t wake up again.”

“Liam,” Harry says, his face worked into something like pity, which Liam doesn’t want.

“I didn’t mean -- sorry, I’m not trying to be a downer or anything. You’ve been great, truly, you and the pack and all, it’s been lovely. Helped loads, but... It’s all a giant sort of mystery, and I don’t like not knowing.”

“I’ll show you,” Harry offers. “If it’ll make you feel better, I can show you. You can spend some time with my wolf.”

“You can just shift whenever you want?”

“Perks of being an alpha,” he says dryly.

Liam raises his eyebrows. That’d be brilliant, but. “That’s not dangerous?”

Harry shrugs. “We have an understanding.”

“Okay,” he says even though Harry’s already slid off the bed and started stripping off his clothing. This is what makes him an alpha, really, sacrificing himself to give Liam some comfort. Liam crawls off the bed after him, standing before him, not really sure what he should do with himself.

When Liam shifts, it feels like it takes hours, bits of him moving and changing in increments, painfully slow. He figures that’s because he fights it. Because watching Harry kneel on the floor and shift, it looks seamless. Harry’s there, shuddering his shoulders and taking deep breaths, then he closes his eyes and shifts until the wolf has taken over.

He’s only seen someone else change the once -- just Niall on that first full moon, and he was in too much of a daze to register much of it. The shift looks about as painful as it feels, the way his back snaps and curves, the way his ribs start to curl in to build a thinner torso. He reckons the wolf, if it stood up, could be about as tall as Harry. It shivers as its fur grows in thick. The only thing Liam can’t see is how his face shifts -- Harry keeps his head turned away from Liam until he isn't Harry anymore.

When the change is done, the wolf turns sharply to Liam, so sharply he nearly takes a step back. It crooks its head the way he’s seen Harry do when he’s curious or confused, twitching its nose at him experimentally.

“Hello,” Liam says because he feels like he should greet the thing even though it can’t understand him. “I’m Liam. Nice to. Y’know. Meet you, I guess, formally. In the flesh. My flesh, not my wolf’s… fur. Yeah. This is stupidly awkward.”

The wolf just watches him carefully, unblinking, and honestly, a little judgmental-looking. Or maybe that’s just the way its face looks. Liam’s not intimately familiar with interpreting wolf expressions.

“Harry’s got jokes. What do you do?” Liam asks to no response. “Nothing. That makes sense. Shit, sorry. I’m really nervous.”

The wolf settles down, resting its forelegs on the floor and tilting its head to the side. Liam recognizes the move, an offer to comfort him. So there are some similarities between the two of them. He wonders if this is what Harry meant when he said an understanding.

He inches towards the wolf until he can kneel before it. “Feels weird to just sort of stick my face in your business, do you mind if I just -- ?” He holds a hesitant hand up, wiggling his fingers lightly, and waits for a response.

The wolf eyes his fingers carefully before tilting its head forward, sticking his nose toward Liam until it’s sniffing lightly at his fingers. It nuzzles lightly, which feels like permission, so Liam takes the opportunity to slide his hands through the coarse fur around its neck.

He takes in more of its coloring, how its fur is a tawny brown around its eyes and down its body, but its snout fades into white. Its eyes are nothing like Harry’s green ones, ringed with a gold that you only see in animals. Somehow the wolf manages to look strong, powerful, even as it sits calmly on carpet and allows Liam to pet at its fur the way he’d pet at Harry’s hair.

“Don’t tell Harry, he’ll only get a big head out of it,” Liam says conspiratorially, “but you’re very beautiful.”

He gives it a scratch under his chin like he would do a dog because he’s not sure what else to do. The wolf responds rather well, its eyes slowly sinking shut.

“Yeah, you’re not stodgy at all, are you,” he murmurs just before the wolf stills, its ears going flat against its head. Liam jerks his hand away as the wolf starts to grumble deep. It’s not angry at Liam, it seems, because its eyes are trained beyond Harry’s room.

“Doing all right?” Liam asks as calmly as he can manage.

The wolf growls a little firmer, like a warning, throws a sharp look to Liam. He feels like he’s being told to stay put, so he does, nods at the thing so it gets that he understands. The wolf darts from the room, and Liam chases after it anyway, jumping to his feet and scrambling into the living room to find no trace of it.

“Shit,” Liam says, his voice echoing a little in the empty room.

\--

Harry doesn’t find him until a few hours later when he shuffles back into his flat, shirtless and looking sheepish. He goes straight for Liam, wraps around him and scents him before he mumbles a lame _sorry_ and pulls away.

Like Liam hasn’t been stressing for hours. Like Liam hasn’t considered leaving the flat to go find him even though Harry’s asked him not to go wandering around the den without him. Like the longer Liam waited he wasn’t more and more convinced something had gone horribly wrong. He doesn’t leave Liam, he never has.

“What happened?”

“Dunno. Mind of its own and all,” Harry says like he’s trying to dismiss any further questions. “What’d you think of it?”

“It’s a very nice wolf. Except the end there, that was a little worrying. Just sort of growled at me a bit and ran off.” He lifts a pointed eyebrow at Harry.

“Sorry,” he repeats, but it sounds a little more genuine this time. “I’ll try to find out, but I suspect it was just a pack thing.”

Liam laughs, but it doesn’t have much humor to it. If Harry’s wolf is acting a bit strange and he doesn’t even know why, there isn’t much hope for Liam getting to know what his own wolf does.

“What are you going to do, ask your wolf?”

“Probably.”

Liam blinks at him. “You talk to it? How?”

“I meditate a lot.”

Liam snorts, but Harry isn’t smiling. “What, seriously?”

“Yes, Liam, seriously,” Harry says petulantly.

“Oh. All right then,” Liam says, and twenty minutes later he’s sat on a pillow on the living room floor with his eyes closed and running through breathing exercises with Harry as he lights candles around them.

“Don’t think of it as losing yourself,” Harry says. “Think of it as opening yourself up. You’re opening yourself up to the wolf so it will learn to open itself to you, like. If you build trust, if you find your balance, you’ll be able to see what it sees, just as it can sometimes see what you see.”

Liam’s not entirely sure he wants to see what the wolf sees, to be honest, and he peeks an eye open at Harry to let him know just that until Harry catches him.

“Eyes shut, Liam, please take this seriously.”

Liam runs his hand over his face, doing a little bit to show Harry his eyes are swung all the way shut and locked. He starts to listen as he’s supposed to, takes the measured breaths Harry leads him through, and tries to be as open as possible.

He tries to focus on Harry’s voice until Harry tells him to stop focusing on his voice and to _turn your mind inward_ , whatever that means. So Liam sits on the carpet with his eyes shut, thinking to himself, _hello, wolf, are you in there? Would you fancy a chat?_

He doesn’t feel particularly open, mostly just a bit sleepy, like he’s going to fall asleep sitting up. Perhaps this is a good idea, Liam can get a bit of a nap in. He opens his eyes to tell Harry he thinks it’s not going to work, but --

_He spots his prey, the man with the pinched face. The threat. He storms across the sidewalk, his pace brisk but not uncatchable. The man is packless, an easy target._

_Liam moves in the shadows, hugging walls to stalk his prey unnoticed as he looks for the best opportunity to finish what he started a few hours ago._

_He gets a nudge in the side from the snout of the wolf next to him, his alpha, questioning his motives. This man threatened their pack. The alpha will understand._

_The alpha follows him a few more blocks, the two of them ducking around streetlights until they’re alone on the same street and he’s taking out his keys._

_Liam’s ready. He’ll see his pack defended, he’ll spill his blood on the streets like a warning. The neck if he wants it quick, the torso if he wants to watch the man realize why he’s being punished. The torso then, he decides, and starts for him._

_The alpha’s jaws clamp painfully over Liam’s neck, weakening his resolve and his body until he sinks slowly to the floor. The man enters his home, safe and out of Liam’s reach. He whines, but is shown no mercy for minutes. The bite hurts, but doesn’t break the skin._

_The wolf stands over him, a firm paw pressed against his snout. It growls its warning, its fangs on full display. He shivers but defers, relaxing his head until the heat in his veins are gone, leaking out of him until he’s pliant, obedient. The wolf looks down at him, disdain and disappointment rolling off of it in waves._

_He closes his eyes to show surrender, but startles at a touch on his back --_

Liam’s hand flies up to strike out in defense, but his wrist is caught firm and tight. He bristles, baring his teeth, ready to fight.

“Liam, hey, Liam,” he can hear Harry say from a distance, and that starts to bring him back. The world still feels cloudy, reality feels out of reach. He can feel Harry’s hand slide down his arm until it rests against his chin. “Liam, come back to me.”

Liam blinks up at him as the features of his face sharpen and clear up. Harry looks devastated, and Liam can’t stand it. He must have scared Harry almost as much as he’s scared himself, losing control like that.

“Sorry,” he whispers when he remembers the word. It takes him a few minutes.

“No, Liam, shit,” Harry says, stricken, wide-eyed, “I didn’t know that would happen. I swear.”

He blinks again, deliberate head-clearing moves until he’s got a firm hold on where he is. He’s still on the floor, tucked in Harry’s lap like he had at one point fallen into him.

“S’fine.”

Harry scowls. “It’s not. You told me you didn’t want to lose yourself, and I let you go anyway.”

Liam shifts until he can get his nose in Harry’s neck, letting Harry hold him until he calms down.

“I’m not sure I want to do that again,” Liam says.

“You won’t have to, we’ll find another way to communicate,” Harry promises, petting gently at his back.

He’s not entirely sure what the wolf was trying to tell him there. Was it a threat? This is what it’ll get up to if Liam lets it free? Is this what it wants Liam to become? Bloodthirsty, violent, wild? Because he won’t. Liam won’t let go of himself.

\--

He spends the week leading up to the full moon doing yoga at night, Harry leading him and some of the younger ones in a few exercises. It helps, though he’s terrible at it. It probably helps _because_ he’s terrible at it, so busy trying to focus on Harry’s instructions and his own body refusing to follow them that he literally can’t spare any thoughts to anything else.

He’s been doing that more, getting out with the pack. He even cooked a meal for half of them Wednesday night with a nice lady called Sarah who seems to cover most of the meals by herself. They gather around a massive picnic-style table in the common’s kitchen and trade bowls and trade stories like a holiday family dinner.

Harry never asks him to go back to his flat, despite basically telling Liam he wasn’t allowed to live in the den. Liam’s not asked him about it since, just spent every night sleeping beside him in his bed, even though there’s plenty of room elsewhere in the den. He trusts Harry to do the right thing, to tell him what’s best for him.

The pack looks to Harry for guidance; Liam’s not even sure if Harry realizes how much he already does for them. Especially considering this David bloke never seems to be around. Can’t be much of a leader if he’s not there leading people, as far as Liam’s concerned. If he ever mentions it to Harry, Harry goes red in the face, mumbles something about how service is more important than leadership, that it’s not about him telling the pack what to do but about him giving the pack the support they need. Niall nods his encouragement any time he sees Liam do so.

He takes the day of the full moon off, and the next, and he’s glad he does when he wakes up feeling just as achy and unsettled as he had a month ago. Harry encourages him to sleep as much as he can during the day. He feels bad, lazing about, doing nothing but sleeping in preparation for the night, but he’s not sure what else there is to do.

He sleeps a dreamless sleep when he can catch some, usually drifts in and out of consciousness every few hours. Sometimes Harry’s there writing at the desk in the corner, sometimes Harry’s in  bed with him looking dead to the world in a deep sleep, but most of the time he’s alone.

He wakes up once to what he thinks is someone calling his name. He’s more awake than he has been all day, like he’s gotten a cold splash of water to the face. He squints down at his watch -- it’s nearly time, so it was probably his wolf slapping him awake. Making sure he doesn’t just try to sleep through the whole damn thing.

Liam laughs. As if he could.

He pads into the bathroom to actually splash a bit of water on his face. He studies the dark circles under his eyes, his pale and clammy complexion, tries to see the wolf through his own eyes. He talks to his wolf in the mirror sometimes, when he’s alone and there’s nobody there to catch him doing anything too embarrassing.

“I’m not gonna fight it,” Liam promises, looking himself hard in the eyes because there’s no place else he reasonably can look to address the wolf. “At the full moon, I’ll surrender. I want you to have your freedom, but I need to trust you. I need to know you’ll listen to Harry. Harry’s wolf. The alpha. Whatever. I trust you, and you need to trust me. Okay?”

He waits for an answer that’s not going to come for only a few moments before he moves into the living room. Harry and Niall stop talking as soon as they sense he’s there, Niall pasting on a big grin at the sight of him.

“Hey, Nialler,” Liam says, burying his nose in his neck to calm his nerves a bit. Niall pats his back with an _all right, Liam_ in response. Liam moves back to press himself into Harry’s side, Harry’s arm reaching around to rest a hand on his lower back.

“Gonna run with you lads tonight,” Niall says.

“What’s this? Reinforcements?” Liam jokes, but the look on Harry’s face tells Liam it was the truth. His smile slowly fades, sinking almost as fast as his stomach does.

“How do you feel?” Harry asks, squeezing at his waist.

“Great. Like I could run a marathon,” Liam answers because _I’m bricking it_ isn’t going inspire very much confidence in the two of them. Especially if they think he might be so dangerous tonight he’ll need two chaperones instead of his customary one.

The three of them strip off their clothing and toss them onto the sofa. Liam’s not entirely sure if it’s a time thing or a moon thing that causes the shift or what, but for a while it’s just the three of them standing around starkers waiting for something to happen.

“This is totally normal,” Niall deadpans.

That cracks Harry up, his face pinching with laughter and his hand going to cover his mouth, which gets Liam going. It’s all a bit absurd, really, just three regular lads waiting to have a go at being wolves on the night of the full moon.

“Shit,” Niall says, his voice dropping, and then Liam feels it too.

He gasps through the first lick of pain, the moon sounding the alarm on Liam’s internal clock, it seems.

“Not gonna fight it,” Liam breathes out his reminder.

“That’s right,” Harry answers gently and kneels with him.

It already feels easier, the pain already dulls, just with Liam’s promise. His mind clouds, but in a slower, softer way, like falling asleep. Harry’s right, it’s much easier to give himself up to the wolf. He steals another glance over at Niall, who watches him critically, before locking eyes with Harry.

“See you on the other side?” Liam asks with as much of a smile as he can manage.

“Always,” Harry promises.

_\--_

The first thing he realizes when he wakes up is he feels good. There’s no dull ache in his muscles, no twisting fear in his stomach that he might have done anything terrible in the night. He can’t feel the wolf tugging gently at him for control. He feels satisfied. Sated, even, like it was a good night, and he feels relieved.

Liam reaches out blindly for Harry, not quite willing to subject his eyes to the harsh sunlight yet. He doesn’t usually wake up this late the morning after; they must have had a rather tiring run last night.

He can’t find Harry with his hands so he cracks his eyes open to do the job. Only Harry’s not there. Neither’s Niall. Liam’s alone in some back alley he doesn’t recognize, curled up against a black metal box. One of the wolves’ boxes, he realizes with excitement as he rolls to his knees in front of it.

“You are fucking brilliant,” he tells his wolf as he puts the code into the lock to pop the box open. He dresses quickly to take off back for the den. He’s downtown, he realizes, far on the other end of the city from Harry, further into the city than they’ve travelled with each other as wolves, but he knows his way home.

It’s a beautiful day -- the sun shines bright above him in spite of a light snowfall. Families are bundled up and bustling around Liam as he walks barefoot down the street. At this point, he’s a bit used to looking out of place, but so long as the cold isn’t bothering him, he doesn’t pay much mind to it.

He wants to get back to the den, he wants to see Harry. Wants to tell him something desperately, wants to see Harry proud of him. He slowly picks up his pace until he’s running flat out through the street, easily dodging anyone who stands in his way. It’s fun, pushing himself as fast as he can go, relying on the wolf’s strengths not for an emergency, but just because he can.

A few blocks from the den, he starts to feel tugged forward, chasing a scent so strong he doesn’t have a choice but to move faster. It’s just for Liam, it’s calling him home, he can feel it.

He comes skidding to a stop, sliding a little on ice on the sidewalk, in front of the den before course correcting up the steps to the door. He knows it doesn’t have a doorbell, god knows if he knocks anybody’s going to hear it. He knocks anyway, both of his hands tapping out a jaunty rhythm. He needs Harry.

He can hear a few loud thumps on the other side of the door, almost like someone’s throwing a large sack of potatoes down several flights of stairs. He frowns and knocks again, normally this time, but his second knock doesn’t hit anything but air.

Harry wrenches open the door and launches himself onto Liam, clinging to him like a limpet. A big part of Liam is startled, but a smaller part finds it sort of hilarious. He wraps his arms firmly around Harry’s back, digging his face into his shoulder, not because he needs it but because it’s comfortable. He realizes it was Harry’s scent, magnified times a thousand, calling Liam home. It smells so fucking good.

“Shit, Liam,” Harry says. “So worried. Checked all of our places, couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I’m fine,” Liam says with a laugh. He lets Harry run his hands over him and press into his neck even though he doesn’t need it. He feels perfectly content, especially now he’s in Harry’s arms. He wonders if this is what a balance is supposed to feel like.

“What happened?”

“Dunno.” He shifts to throw a smile up to Harry. “I’m fine, honestly, you’re making me nervous.”

“Your wolf ran away, couldn’t find you, we were so worried,” Harry says, moving his hands to cup Liam’s face and squinting at him. Liam thinks for one heart-stopping moment he might lean in like Liam wants him to. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Liam says, and he means it. “Bit dirty though.”

“Right.” Harry swallows and rakes his eyes over Liam one last time before turning to open the door for the two of them. He shakes the light snow off his hair that had dusted it while they were outside and runs a stressed hand through the locks.

“Are _you_ okay?” Liam asks.

Harry looks startled for a moment before he schools his features. He nods, a little too jerky to seem natural. “Don’t like you on your own.”

“Me neither,” Liam says because it’s true. “Better together.”

Harry rests his hand on Liam’s back to guide him upstairs, gives him a soft, “Yeah.”

From his bathroom, he can hear Harry on the phone, talking about him, he assumes. It’s a short conversation -- Harry tells them Liam’s come back to the den and they can stop looking for him. Liam frowns as he cranks the shower on. What did Harry do, put the whole pack out to find him? Like Harry’s scared of what he might have done alone. Liam pauses. Should he be scared of what he might have done?

“Don’t you have clothes?” Harry asks with playfully narrowed eyes when Liam comes out of his room after showering with one of Harry’s shirts thrown on over a pair of his joggers.

Liam shrugs and throws himself onto the sofa, half on top of Harry because he can. Harry shifts easily, instinctively, wrapping his arm around him so Liam clicks into place.

“I like to wear yours,” Liam says, looking up at him. “They smell like you.” He spares a thought for the shirt he stole, probably still unmoved from Liam’s floor. He’s always felt calmer with Harry’s scent, safer, stronger.

Harry’s expression drops, walling up as startlingly fast as he usually does when there's something on his mind and he doesn't want Liam to know. It hurts like a slap to the face, after all they’ve been through together. After everything Liam’s told him.

“What’s wrong?” Liam prompts.

“Nothing. Think _Loose Women_ ’s on in a few,” Harry mumbles, disentangling himself from Liam to grab the remote that sits on the table in front of them.

“Harry,” Liam says, but Harry shakes his head and switches the television on. He reaches up to run a few fingers through Harry’s hair. “Hey. What’s going on up there?”

Harry pulls at his lip a few times before switching the television back off. “I promised you I’d be with you and I wasn’t.” He sounds irritated, but it doesn’t seem directed at Liam.

“We aren’t always in control,” Liam says soothingly. It’s a bit strange to be on the other side of the equation, reassuring Harry that Liam’s going to be okay. They may have been separated, but Harry called him home. Harry looked for him, Harry sent his pack out for him. Harry’s always going to do his best to take care of Liam.

“But I should be,” Harry says, keeping his eyes trained carefully ahead of him. “Otherwise what’s the point? If I can’t be there for you always, what’s the point?”

“You’re here for your pack as much as you can be, Harry.”

“Not them,” Harry dismisses. He turns his focus away from the blank television to Liam, and the intensity of it is overwhelming, makes Liam feel like nothing else in the world exists but his eyes on Liam. “You,” Harry continues quietly. “I don’t like being without you.”

“Because I'm new?” Liam chances, just to be sure, but he knows what Harry means, he can feel it, he can smell it.

“No, Liam,” he says, slowly. “Not because you’re new.”

Liam melts, something like relief flooding through him. That’s all he wants to hear, that Harry feels the same, that he can’t live without him. Or at least won’t live without him. He noses at Harry’s neck and inhales a sweeter scent there. This is for me, he realizes. Harry’s still calling for him.

He presses a small kiss on his neck, then another when he realizes he can feel Harry’s pulse there. Harry’s hand squeezes Liam’s thigh tight as he leans his head to the side, an invitation Liam jumps on. He nips and sucks until he’s left a mark on Harry’s neck, a claim. He can feel Harry’s pulse thump wildly under his lips, hear Harry shudder out a pleased breath. Liam grins into his skin briefly at Harry’s approval. A wave of warmth flows through him, spurring him further.  

He braces one hand against Harry’s chest, laces the other in Harry’s hair until he looks at him. Harry’s eyes open lazily, and they blink at him, slow but full of wonder. Liam gently pulls Harry towards him, presses his lips light enough to Harry’s that Harry could pull away and it wouldn’t mean anything. But he knows Harry won’t pull away, and Harry doesn’t. They’ve staked their claim on each other.

Liam can’t get enough of the taste of Harry’s lips, the feel of them moving hotly against his own to commit it to memory before Harry’s pulling away. A desperate growl escapes Liam’s lips, but he hesitates when he opens his eyes. Harry’s face looks open, vulnerable in a way Liam hasn’t seen on him before.

Harry licks his lips nervously before he asks, “You want this, right?”

“I started it.” Liam squeezes the hand that’s shifted down to the back of Harry’s neck, at once comforting him and inviting him to kindly start kissing Liam again.

“S’not because, y’know, I’m an alpha. It’s not that,” Harry presses. “You’re not just doing this because I want you.”

“It’s not that,” Liam promises, his cheeks pinking a little to hear it so blatantly, _I want you_. “It’s you.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s me and you, I promise,” he says gently. He swipes up some of the hair hanging in Harry’s face and tucks it behind his ear for him. He doesn’t want anything in the way of Harry’s eyes finding his. “Okay?”

Harry considers this for a few heart-stopping moments before he leans down and mumbles against Liam’s lips, “Me and you.”

Harry kisses aggressively, possessively now that he’s opened himself up to Liam. Liam feels he’s seconds away from being devoured, and he’d let Harry. If it feels this good to be devoured, he’d let him.

He gives as good as he gets, finally getting his teeth around that bottom lip Harry’s always worrying to give it some attention himself. They shift together as if by unspoken agreement, Liam stretching out on the sofa, Harry draping himself over Liam from head to toe. He gets the weirdest flash of deja vu, but it passes when Harry starts dropping kisses down to his neck to return the favor of a bruise in the crook of it.

He gasps at a particularly rough bite, his fingers digging harder into Harry’s lower back to spur him on. He’s treated to another bite and a roll of Harry’s hips against his. Liam’s skin starts to hum in a familiar way, the blood in his veins starts thrumming. He relishes the sensation, how he feels so sensitive, every inch of his body pressed to Harry’s feels electric. Then he remembers what the hum means, and as soon as he does, a lick of pain rolls up his spine and wrenches a groan from him.

“Harry, wait, I’m gonna -- ” he stutters, pulling away.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Already?” he asks, looking quite pleased with himself.

“No,” Liam says with a scowl, batting lightly at his arm, then pausing to take some of the deep breaths he needs to calm the wolf. His fingers spasm against Harry’s bicep, gripping far stronger than he should, but Harry’s face doesn’t wince with pain. Harry understands quickly.

“Stay with me, okay?” Harry whispers.

He drops a kiss to Liam’s chest and starts to sync his breaths with Liam until all Liam can focus on is how calm Harry makes him. His heart stops thumping wildly, returns to a much more reasonable tempo. They lie together quietly, patiently, and somehow it feels just as intimate.

“You okay?” Harry asks when he should, like he knows the exact moment Liam’s in the clear.

“Yeah. It’s just last time I got a little… excited,” Liam explains, a bit disappointed in himself, “you know, with someone, I wolfed out. I’m just trying to be safe.”

A concerned frown colors Harry’s face. “What last time?” he pouts. Honestly.

Liam ignores the pout, preferring to focus on Harry. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me.” Harry ducks down to press a quick kiss to Liam’s lips that Liam soaks up even though it sends another light wave of dangerous shivers down his body. “And if you shift, I’ll shift with you. Always.”

“I don’t want that,” Liam says with a shake of his head. “I don’t want the wolf to take this from me. I want to keep you.”

Harry makes a sad noise and presses his face directly against Liam’s chest. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can’t?”

“No, you’re breaking my heart,” he says, his words muffled. He adjusts himself to rest his head flat against Liam’s chest, his eyes drifting shut. Liam can feel Harry’s steady breathing, his strong chest moving up and down, setting a good example for Liam’s own shaky breaths.

Liam runs his fingers through Harry’s hair like he’s the one that needs calming to keep from changing, but focusing on Harry instead of himself helps. He likes to take care of Harry, when he can, when Harry lets him. It makes him feel at ease, like a good member of the pack.

“You’re not, like, you didn’t feel like you’re going to shift?” Liam asks after a while.

Harry picks his head up to shake it no at him. “Me and my wolf, we have an understanding.”

Liam squints at him. “What, a sex understanding?”

“An understanding about you.” He’s so casual about it Liam wants to fall apart.

“Oh. I should get me one of them,” he jokes, but his cheeks flush tellingly. He wonders if Harry’s had a talk with his wolf before, then, if they’ve reached an understanding. He wonders how long Harry’s thought about Liam this way. Long enough to make plans to keep his own wolf at bay, surely.

He figures they should probably move off the sofa and into bed when Harry yawns right in his face. “Am I boring you?” Liam asks wryly.

Harry’s eyes widen like he’s afraid he’s offended Liam. “No, m’sorry, I just didn’t get any sleep. This is good, I swear.” He reaches to give Liam a peck just to prove a point.

“I kept you up all morning, didn’t I?” He can’t help but feel a little guilty. If Harry’s been looking for Liam since he’s changed back, it probably means he hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, what with the wolf in control. Liam’s never exactly felt well-rested the morning after a change either, so he bets Harry’s bone-deep exhausted.

Harry doesn’t answer outside of a small shrug of his shoulder.

“Promise I’ll work on the, uh, the snogging thing,” Liam says instead of prodding him further.

Harry chuckles, and Liam can feel the vibration in his chest. “We can put that in our nightly wolf regimen -- yoga, breathing exercises, kisses. We’ll work up to it.”

“Yes, please.”

Liam follows easily when Harry gets off the sofa and takes his hands to guide him back towards his room and into his bed. Liam prods at Harry until he’s not pressing up against anything that’s going to cause them too much trouble in the bits region, keeping his hips at a safe distance but the rest of himself wrapped securely around Harry’s chest.

“Little spoon,” Harry chuckles softly as soon as Liam’s covered the two of them with Harry’s duvet. Liam can already hear sleep weighing on him, and his rhythmic breathing slowly takes Liam with him.

“I gotcha.”

“Feels safe,” Harry mumbles. Even though Harry’s really the strongest of them all, Liam is pleased to hear it. It’s important enough for Liam to let him know that as much as Harry has his back, he’ll always have Harry’s. He wants him to feel just as safe, just as confident, just as cared for.

“Should leave more often, if it means you’d kiss me,” Liam says, tracing his fingers lightly across the bruise he left on Harry’s neck. He feels a wave of satisfaction to have marked him, to have staked his claim.

Harry makes an unimpressed noise.

“What?” Liam grins. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that what they say?”

“Be quiet, Liam,” Harry says, blindly lifting his hand up and settling it back on Liam’s face, not particularly covering anything effectively. Liam nips and licks at his fingers until Harry’s snorting and pulling them away to rest his hand on Liam’s arm instead.

They breathe together, Liam’s chest pressing into Harry’s back, Harry’s chest rising under Liam’s arms. He’s surrounded by Harry even though he’s the one wrapped around him, and everything about it feels right. Then he remembers what he woke up this morning needing to tell Harry, the last thought on his mind to share before he loses his train of thought to sleep.

“You’d have been proud of me,” Liam breathes.

Harry hums a sleepy noise. “Yeah?”

“Hunted real good last night. Wanted to show you my kill,” he says, and he barely registers how Harry’s hand pauses in its trip up and down his arm, the scared little _what did you say_ Harry breathes out before Liam’s out like a light.

\--

_Liam’s skin is buzzing, he’s so fucking ready. His eyes drift shut as Harry noses at his neck from behind, the scratch of his barely-there stubble sending a little shiver through him._

_“Go on,” Harry murmurs, and takes a step back as Liam opens his eyes._

_Louis waits for him in the corner, dazed, broken, the light in his eyes nearly extinguished. Liam prefers the chase, if he’s honest, likes them a bit spryer. But he takes what he can get._

_He grins at Louis, licks his lips like he can already taste the blood on them. He can feel Harry’s approval wash over him as he approaches Louis like he’s stalking his prey._

_Louis, to his credit, doesn’t scream._

Liam snaps awake, expecting to be curled up around Harry, but Harry isn’t there. He somewhat blindly reaches out for Harry’s side of the bed and finds it cold. He’s not been there for a while, then. It’s been some time since he’s had one of the dreams -- hasn’t had them the whole week he’s been staying at Harry’s, if he recollects correctly. He’d stupidly thought he was free of them.

He scrubs at his eyes, thinks _fuck fuck fuck_ at himself for the way his heart pounds and the way he thinks he can taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth if he really thinks about it. It’s never been Louis, never been anyone he knows before besides technically himself -- though he’s not sure if watching a stranger get devoured is any more of a relief.

He squints at his watch in the low light. It’s nearly 5 am, shit, he’s slept through the whole day and then some. He’s never done that, not even as a kid on the weekends or during school hols. It’s never felt right to him to waste a whole day away when he could be up and doing things. As nice as it is to sleep beside him, it feels even more wrong now that he could be up and doing things with Harry.

Harry’s not in the bathroom or the living room or the kitchen, not a trace of him. Liam’s not entirely happy that Harry up and left him without word, or at least a reason he’s willing to tell Liam. That sort of thing leaves him alone to his thoughts, fearing the worst, feeling left out. He’s pack, and they’re… something more to each other now. The least Harry could do is leave him a note.

He’s halfway through making himself a small fry-up when Harry stumbles through the door. He makes a beeline for Liam in the kitchen, and basically throws himself at him. Liam instinctively shifts his head to the side to give Harry access to his neck, and Harry fits in where he belongs, his arms pressing tight around Liam in a desperate hug.

“Hey, Harry,” Liam says, stroking his fingers lightly through Harry’s hair. He can feel him shivering lightly. If Liam didn’t know better, if Harry wasn’t always in such control, he’d say Harry was about to shift. “Harry?”

“You have to go,” he says finally, pulling back and capturing Liam’s hands in his own. Liam sees his eyes clearly in the dark, wide and scared. They’re shining an unnatural gold, like the wolf is peeking through. Liam wonders if his own eyes look like that, when he’s fading and the wolf fights for power.

“He knows what you did.” Harry reaches around Liam to turn the stove off, then tugs at Liam, hard, insistent. Liam’s stomach does a flip as he smells fear in Harry’s scent. Harry doesn’t get scared, Harry’s too strong.

“What I did?” Liam asks, stumbling to keep up with him as they leave his flat. “What did I do?”

“Shit,” Harry hisses, his knees giving out. Liam swoops in quickly, has a hand around Harry’s waist and steadies him before he can drop to the floor. He’s looks ready to change, like he can’t control it, can’t stop it. Harry doesn’t get like that, Harry’s too strong for that, Liam thinks, until Harry confirms it. “Can’t fight it much longer.”

“Then don’t,” Liam says, frowning at him. “You said don’t fight it.”

Harry shakes his head, working his face into a grimace. He urges Liam on a couple more steps. “Not safe here.” He comes to an abrupt stop, his eyes scrunched shut and his lips pressed firmly together in pain, and Liam worries for a moment he’s going to shift right there without explaining what’s going on.

“What do you mean, it’s not safe?”

Harry shakes his head again and presses his way through the door in front of them.

“Niall,” he bellows, a command lacing through his tone that almost has Liam weak in the knees -- decidedly inconvenient considering Liam’s holding the two of them up.

Niall wanders out from the back after a few moments, barefoot and in a pair of sleep pants, scrubbing at one of his eyes irritably.

“Fuck’s sake, Styles,” he says sleepily, but seconds later he’s snapping to attention, looking like he’s fully awake. “He knows?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Niall, you have to -- ”

“Dammit, Harry,” he says brusquely. “Two seconds.” He turns on his heel and storms back into his room.

“What?” Liam asks, looking between Harry and Niall’s door as Harry moves out of Liam’s arms and leans against the wall by the door instead.

Liam doesn’t like that he’s done that. He doesn’t like the shorthand between the two of them. He doesn’t like that he always feels out of the loop. He doesn’t like that Harry looks like he’s about to lose it, bracing his hands on his knees and taking ragged breaths. He doesn’t like being on the other side of this, being the Harry to his Liam. He likes to take care of Harry, but not this way.

“Liam, let’s go,” Niall says when he reappears, having pulled on a jumper and a pair of shoes.

“Please,” Harry pleads. “I’ll come for you, but you have to go now.”

“I’ll change if you do,” Liam says, inching closer to him. “I’ll find a way.”

Harry smooths a hand along Liam’s chin, running a thumb up and down his cheek. “Don’t change, please. Be safe.”

Harry’s also telling him not to argue, he’s telling him to save himself from a threat he doesn’t understand. Secrets, it’s too often secrets with Harry, and Liam gets the feeling he’s at the center of them.

“It’s gonna be okay, right?” Liam asks.

Harry kisses his answer into Liam’s lips before pressing his hands at Liam’s chest to push him away.

\--

Liam’s feet slap against the snow-damp sidewalk. Niall grabbed his shoes before he left, practical in a way Liam apparently wasn’t able to afford.

“What the fuck is going on?” Liam shouts as Niall hauls him down the street, his hand firmly clenched around Liam’s arm.

Niall just eyes him. “You okay? You gonna shift?”

“No,” Liam says, on both counts. He’s stressed, scared, worried for Harry, but strangely his wolf does nothing. He wonders if it’s because Harry told him not to. But if Harry has that kind of power over him, why wouldn’t he do it for Liam all the time? He could keep Liam from shifting, he could basically turn off his wolf. Harry could have stopped all of this from happening to Liam, if it was this easy.

He cuts that line of thought off quick, too dangerous to keep going down.

“Then let’s get you home; we’ll talk there,” Niall says, but they keep walking towards Liam’s flat and not back towards the den, is the thing. His flat doesn’t feel much like home anymore.

Liam realizes he hasn’t got his keys when they get there -- hasn’t got anything but his watch and Harry’s clothes from yesterday -- so they have to climb the fire escape up to his apartment instead. Liam learns that if he puts his hands a certain way against the frame of his windowsill, he can open it from the outside. He hasn’t locked it since the last time Harry last came through it.

He feels like he should be safer, calmer once he’s in his home, but it does nothing to slow his pounding heart. If anything, it feels worse now that he’s landed farther away from Harry and is no closer to understanding what’s gone wrong. He doesn’t know how Harry’s doing or why he’s been kicked out. He doesn’t know fucking _anything_ and it’s starting to drive him crazy.

The sound of his window slamming shut behind him startles him, followed closely by Niall’s voice. “Any of your windows open?”

“It’s November,” Liam says, exasperated, pacing around the room as his mind runs a million miles an hour. The windows seem like the last thing Liam’s mind should be on.

“Eyes on me, Liam,” Niall says sharply, and Liam’s eyes snap up to look at him. “Are any of your windows open?”

Liam’s unsure, scrambles for any occasion where he’d open them, but his mind is too scrambled with worry to focus on much of the past. “Dunno. I haven’t been home in a while.”

“Let’s check them first, okay?” Niall asks, his voice dropping into something calmer, like a tone you’d use to soothe a crying kid. Liam doesn’t like that.

“No, thank you, I’ll take information first, if it’s all the same to you.”

Niall gnaws at his thumb as he regards Liam, looking like wheels are spinning hard in his mind too. “You’re bitten, not born. You’re not supposed to exist,” he explains carefully. “That makes you a threat.”

“What?” Liam asks dumbly. Nobody’s threatened by him. Harry’s said he’s fine, the pack likes him well enough. “I’m not a threat?”

“It’s against pack laws to bite, to turn people, because it makes them wild, does all sorts of unnatural things to a person, turning them into something they’re not meant to be. You know how hard it is to control your wolf, right?”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees slowly, but feels like he’s going to be backed in a corner. Harry told them they can’t make other wolves, but he’d never stopped to imagine why that was, beyond how fucking difficult it is to live this life. The two of them are working on keeping control, Liam’s going to be okay, Harry promised. He’s not meant to be… wild.

“It’s because you’re not meant to be this way. We know you, Liam, me and Harry know how hard you’re trying. Harry says you’re doing good. It’s just we’ve all been burned before, thinking we can tame a bitten wolf. If Harry can’t convince David otherwise, he’ll send you to the Vault.”

“What’s the Vault?” Liam asks, his skin prickling with the thought. Niall makes a face that tells him it’s exactly what he thinks it is. “Are you locking up people like me?”

“It’s not like that,” Niall says, but it really sounds like it is.

He takes a few steps back from Niall, lacing his hands in his hair to tug on something solid, grounding, just to keep from shaking. “If they told you to lock me up, would you let them?”

“If you end up like they do, I would.” The severity of Niall’s voice stops Liam in his tracks.  “And you would ask me to.”

“How do they end up?”

“Most of them, they can’t shift back because they don’t know how anymore. Bitten wolves don’t have any control, so they lose themselves. When that happens, they’re a danger to everyone. They kill without regard. They’re not themselves anymore. They’re not people.”

He looks over at Niall, but Niall doesn’t look angry like he expects. He looks pitying, like you get about someone with a terminal illness. When someone’s getting killed from the inside out and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it or change it.

Liam’s had reason to think the worst of himself, then, if they are so worried about him. If they think the worst parts of his nightmares are going to come true. They knew it from the start -- Liam could become a monster and never turn back.

“Harry never said,” Liam says shakily.

“Harry lies,” Niall says, brusque enough that Liam’s taken aback. “Or he keeps secrets, when he thinks it’s too hard to say. He thinks it’s easier that way, but it’s not. Not when shit like this happens and the rest of us have to pick up the pieces.”

“But he talked to you about it,” Liam accuses.

“I talked to him about it. Wanted to be prepared. No offense.”

Liam’s not offended by that, really, because when he thinks about it, Niall was skeptical of him from the start. He told Harry he was dangerous and it turns out he was right. But Niall still trusts Harry when he says Liam’s safe, he shows him what it’s like to be part of their pack. That trust means too much.

“What did I do? How did he find out?” Liam remembers what Harry said when he came to collect him. “I did something, didn’t I? You have to tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Niall says, and it sounds honest.

“I didn’t, somebody didn’t die -- ” Liam’s voice cuts out at the thought.

“No,” Niall says sharply. He grasps Liam’s shoulders and holds him firmly. “You’re okay, Liam, you’re a good lad.”

Liam thunks his head down on Niall’s chest, allows himself to be cuddled closer. “How do you know?” he mumbles into Niall’s jumper.

“Because if you were going to lose yourself to the wolf, you’d have done it already.”

Liam closes his eyes and pretends it doesn’t feel like Harry’s the only thing that keeps him grounded. He’s been fighting so hard, even before Harry came to rescue him, just to stay himself, but it was never easier than with Harry.

Harry always told him he was special, but in the back of his mind, he didn’t really think of that as much more than one of Harry’s dry jokes. He never imagined it was Harry’s way of telling him all along, really, that people like Liam don’t make it. That Liam is doing the impossible.

“I’m an anomaly.”

“Yeah,” Niall laughs gently. “A real freak of nature.”

Liam pulls away from him and says quietly, “I’ll check Louis’ window.”

“Yeah, go on,” Niall says, patting at his back as he moves away.

It smells so strongly of Louis in his room, Liam thinks his heart’s going to break all over again. He flips the light on just to take a look around. He doesn’t expect to see Louis in his bed, wrapped up in his duvet like a burrito -- his standard winter sleeping position.

“Liam?” Louis asks, his voice scratchy like it is when it’s the first thing he’s said for the day. His face scrunches up with the light before he starts moving to cover his eyes.

“Shit, sorry.” Liam flips the lights back off quickly.

“S’going on?” he mumbles.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were home. I’ll just.” He scoots back out of the room and closes the door behind him before Louis can say anything else. He’s sure the window was shut anyway.

Louis would show up at a time like this. He’s never really cared for being convenient to anyone else.

What if the pack come here looking for them? What if they think Louis’ in the way? What if they hurt him? What if Liam hurts him? If he’s some bloody terrifying monster who’s just going to snap one day and start attacking, maybe they should lock him up. Maybe he does belong in the Vault.

He comes back into his room to find Niall still there, Harry’s shirt in his hands. He’s folded it and he’s moving to lay it on Liam’s bed. Liam wonders for the four thousandth time if Harry’s okay.

Niall turns to Liam with expectantly raised eyebrows.

“They’re closed,” Liam says.

“Good, thank you.”

“Louis’ here,” Liam says, but adds when he’s not sure Niall knows who he is, “That’s my flatmate.” Flatmate, best mate, pack member.

“Yeah, that’s good too. Ya got pack around, that’ll make you stronger.”

Liam’s eyebrows raise when he identifies Louis as pack anyway. He wonders if Niall can sense it, or if Harry’s just told him much more about Liam than he ever actually imagined he would.

“Will I need to be stronger?”

“Maybe,” Niall says, and Liam as ever appreciates his honesty. He could have just said no, said whatever Liam needed to hear to feel safe, but he doesn’t. It’s always the truth with Niall, or at least as much of it as he knows to give.

“If Louis’ here, I’m going to head back to Harry. Don’t go outside, keep the windows closed, or they’ll be able to smell you pining for Harry from miles away.”

“I’m not pining,” Liam pouts, even though it sort of seemed like Niall was making a joke.

Niall passes him the same unimpressed look Liam’s seen him give Harry more than enough times. Maybe he’s not wrong. “Don’t start getting all grumpy now, I’ve no use for self-pity.”

“Okay.” He turns to head for the living room, figuring now they’re inside they can start to use doors like actual people, and Niall follows closely behind.

“Don’t open the doors either. Keep your den locked up, nobody can get to you, okay?”

“Okay.” He wonders briefly if dens have some sort of protective capacity, then. Like the Dursley’s house in _Harry Potter_. Maybe that’s why none of the doors at the den have locks.

Niall snatches up Louis’ Rovers jumper from where it was left on the back of the sofa weeks back and presses his face in it. “That’s disgusting,” he tells the jumper, his nose crinkling. He holds it out for Liam and adds, “Put this on.”

“Okay.”

“One of us’ll call you, okay? Keep your phone by you.”

“Left it at the den too.” Along with half his clothing, his shoes, his keys. And Harry.

“Oh,” Niall says, his face dropping. “I’ll get it back to you some way. It’s gonna be okay, Liam. Me and Harry, we’ll take care of you.”

“Promise?” He still wants to believe it’s true.

“Yes, I do,” Niall says firmly before grabbing Liam in a hug and pressing his nose to Liam’s neck. It feels better, it feels right, but only for a couple of moments. Niall pulls back and slaps him lightly on the chest. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try,” Liam answers, and that’s the best he can do.

\--

Louis slides down onto the floor next to him, resting his back against Liam’s bed with his elbows braced on his propped up knees, a cup of tea in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, odd for Louis on both accounts. God, Liam’s really stepped in it. With everyone.

“You didn’t get fired?” Liam asks because Louis’ already dressed for work.

“No.”

“That’s good.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis mumbles, looking down at the mug dangling between his knees. “Gonna quit next week, aren’t I.”

“Yeah.”

Liam asks him how his family is, if he had a nice time back home, when’d he get in. Most of them pleasantries with the weight of break room chatter between coworkers. It’s not them, it’s forced and unnatural, and it dies quickly. They lapse into silence when Louis asks him what the hell happened to the kitchen table and Liam can’t answer that in a satisfactory way. Liam checks his window for the seventh time in an hour, but he doesn’t know what he’s hoping for.

“Are you sick?” Louis prompts eventually.

“What?” Liam asks, even though he knows perfectly well what Louis’ asking. It was only a matter of time. He’s glad Louis isn’t like him. Louis can’t hear the way Liam’s heart rate picks up as he prepares to lie again.

“I keep finding you shaking and pale, looking like you’ve got a nasty cold but a thousand times worse. You won’t let me near you,” Louis says, almost like an accusation. “So are you sick?”

“No.” It’s technically the truth.

“Is it drugs?”

“No, of course not,” Liam sputters. “Fuck, Louis.”

“What is it then? Because it’s all I can think about. You’re either lying to me, or you’re in denial. And honestly, Liam, I’m not sure what’s worse.”

“It’s nothing,” he says weakly.

“Why won’t you just fucking tell me?” Louis asks, quickly wiping at his eyes like he can go fast enough that Liam won’t see him tearing up in frustration. “We don’t do this. We don’t keep secrets. I’ve been bricking it for weeks over you, so would you just put me out of my misery?”

Liam thinks about what Niall said, about keeping secrets and leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces when it blows up in their faces. He’s been lied to from the start, just about the time he started lying to Louis, and it only makes him feel worse now he knows the truth. He’s not sure what he would have done with the truth from the very beginning, though, to be honest. He’d have probably had some sort of breakdown. But at least his feelings wouldn’t have been hurt.

If Liam doesn’t tell him and the pack takes him to this place, the Vault, Louis would never know. He could ask Harry to explain to Louis, but Louis would never understand, not really. He’d never believe him unless Harry convinced him with his little alpha trick. Then neither of them would be happy.

“I got bitten the night of the Blood Moon,” Liam says, watching as his fingers tug on the hem of Louis’ Rovers jumper where it rests on his waist so he doesn’t have to look at Louis’ face. “By a wolf. That’s why I went to hospital.”

“You were mugged,” Louis argues, but there’s not much heat to it.

“No. That’s what I thought too, but it wasn’t. Back in October, during the full moon, Harry found me before my first... change. From the bite. He’s been helping me, y’know, deal with the changes because they’re hard to control. But that’s what you’ve seen, that’s why I’ve been the way I am. And I’m sorry to have sent you away, but I didn’t want you to see me like that. A wolf.”

He looks up at Louis and Louis looks back at him for a very long time, his face frozen in something serious and inscrutable. He can’t tell by his scent or by the rhythm of his steady breathing what he’s thinking. He doesn’t exactly want to prompt Louis’ response before he’s ready, but now that it’s out there, he’s kind of desperate to know what Louis thinks.

“If you’re going to try to convince me you’re a fucking werewolf, Payno, will you at least have the decency to use the word?” Louis says, and Liam still can’t figure out what that means -- if Louis thinks he’s still joking, or if Louis is in some sort of denial and is relying on levity to cope, or what.

“Saying _I’m a werewolf_ sounds a bit absurd.” Though, now that he thinks on it, he’s never actually heard Harry use the term.

“Well, can you imagine how it feels hearing it?”

“Pretty ridiculous?” Liam guesses.

“Really fucking ridiculous,” Louis snaps. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

“Of course not,” he says quickly. He puts a hand on Louis’ arm, squeezing it for emphasis. “God, no. But I am. A, uh, a werewolf. Really.”

“Then show me,” Louis demands, a judgmental eyebrow quirked at him.

“No,” Liam says immediately, sharply, but he feels a jerk in his stomach, his mind echoing back _yes_.

“Why not?”

“I’m dangerous,” he says, and Louis laughs at that, an actual bark of derision. “It’s not me when I change, it’s a wolf, and it hurts people. I can hurt people.”

Louis shakes his head at him slowly, and Liam thinks he’s going to argue about how dangerous he is. But he doesn’t. His voice is soft, hurt, when he says, “You need help, mate.”

“No, Louis,” Liam starts.

“I can’t believe… After all this, you still won’t tell me.” He doesn’t sound angry, only disappointed. It feels worse.

“It’s the truth,” Liam insists. “I wasn’t lying when I told you last month and I’m not lying now. Please.”

“Just. Don’t.” Louis picks himself off the floor swiftly. “Going to work.”

He doesn’t even spare Liam a look when he sweeps out of the room, leaving Liam alone and heated and embarrassed.

Liam can stop him before he gets too far, finally show him what he really is, like he’s promised to before. Give him some empirical evidence. His feet take him out of his room and into living room before Liam realizes it’s the wolf pulling at him again. Liam stops in his tracks, thankful, sort of, that Louis is already gone.

Harry said not to change, so Liam won’t. Liam’s trying to do what’s best for the two of them, and it’s not selfish to want to keep control right now. It’s responsible.

He turns around and heads for the bathroom, marching up to the mirror to talk at his wolf. His fingers grip the cold porcelain of the sink to ground himself. He doesn’t care how ridiculous he feels staring at the mirror like he can see the wolf in it beyond how his eyes flash gold, so long as it can hear him.

“You can’t just -- you can’t fucking _do that_ ,” he hisses at his reflection, panting with the effort to fight the shift. “You can’t just switch me off when you feel like it, just because you’re angry at me. You can’t pitch a fit because you aren’t getting your way. You can’t hurt people, that’s not who we are. That’s not what we do.”

The humming in his veins starts to subside, he starts to breathe easier, the gold of his eyes starts to fade. It’s listening.

“This is a balance. If I can’t live my life the way I want to, then neither can you,” Liam threatens. “I dunno if you heard Niall, but I’ll let them throw us in the Vault. If it means we don’t hurt anyone, I’ll do it.”

He watches closely for any trace of understanding in his eyes, any clue that the wolf agrees. All he sees is himself in the mirror, which he figures is confirmation enough.

\--

Louis’ back within a few hours, surprisingly. Liam can smell him the moment he walks into the flat, slamming the front door behind him so hard Liam startles. He gives it about ten seconds before Louis’ up in arms in Liam’s room.

Liam closes his laptop and sets it aside in anticipation -- his Google search for animal attacks around the city wasn’t yielding much anyway. All it really did was make him feel more on edge, even though he’s sure if there was some sort of vicious series of attacks, they’d be front and center.

“I quit,” Louis says as soon as he’s at Liam’s doorway.

Liam blinks at him, scared, for some reason, he means the two of them. “You quit what?”

“I quit my job, because you, Liam, you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve. Because I was standing there trying to make a latte, thinking about foam ratios, and how the last time I saw you, I got suspended because you threw a man on the ground for yelling at me.”

“He burned you,” Liam argues.

“I work at a coffee shop, I burn my hands like six times a day,” he dismisses impatiently. “So what the fuck was that about?”

Liam tries to think of a reasonable response, but Louis cuts him off anyway. “If the next words out of your mouth are to do with werewolves, Liam, I swear to god.”

Liam rises from his bed and takes careful steps towards him, giving him plenty of opportunity to tell him to back off. He slowly reaches up to rest a hand on one of Louis’ shoulders and leans in to scent the other side of his neck. He’s missed this terribly. He pulls back to find Louis’ eyes shut and his face soft, like maybe he knows what this means for Liam even if he doesn’t understand it.

“You’ve got a scent,” Liam starts, which prompts Louis to open his eyes and watch him closely, his features moving back to something unhappy. “I don’t mean like cologne or anything, I mean something distinctly _you_. Smells like junk food and cigarettes, which I’m sure doesn’t surprise you, but there’s something greater. Your scent means comfort. Means pack. It’s part of the reason I’m wearing this jumper you clearly haven’t washed in years.”

Louis bites at his bottom lip, still scowling at Liam, but he’s not arguing anymore. He’s always known when Liam’s lying, because Liam’s shit at it and because they don’t lie to each other. He’s sure Louis is seeing this is the truth.

“I didn’t want to lie to you, but I didn’t want you to know. There’s something inside me I can’t control. It makes me scared, it makes me dangerous. I didn’t want you to look at me different, like a monster, when I think that’s what I am. You’ve asked me not to lie to you, and I swear I’m not. This is what I am. I’m sorry I can’t prove it myself, but I don’t want you to see me that way. Not until I know you’ll be safe.”

He thinks he’s got him, he thinks he can see Louis start to entertain the idea, but then his eyes grow wide as he looks past Liam. His scent shifts with fear as he screeches, “Holy _shit_.”

Liam follows his line of sight to Harry. Harry’s wolf, that is, sitting outside Liam’s window on the fire escape, its eyes fierce, its teeth clamped around a cloth bag he recognizes as Harry’s. He’s not sure he’s felt more relieved in his life. Harry’s okay.

“Is that a fucking _wolf_?”

“It’s Harry.” Liam goes for the window.

“What are you doing?” Louis says, his voice rising higher with fear. “Are you letting it in? Do you have a death wish?”

“It’s fine, it’s just Harry,” Liam assures him and slides the window open. The wolf jumps into the room and Liam snaps the window shut quickly behind him. Harry’s wolf turns to Liam, craning its head down for him and dropping the bag onto the floor. He kneels in front of the wolf, lacing his fingers into its fur. “Worried about you, you idiot,” he says quietly, and the wolf nuzzles against his arm.

The wolf does a lap next, scenting everything, including Louis. He watches, tense and terrified and stock still, as the wolf approaches him. The wolf noses around his stomach, down to one of his hands, looks up at Louis’ pained expression. When it seems satisfied with the room, it slides through the open door into the rest of their flat, no doubt, to nose at the rest of it as well.

“Okay,” Louis says slowly, nodding even slower. “I’m just… going… to go now. I’m going to go.”

“Louis,” he says, getting a hand on his shoulder before Louis shrugs it off angrily.

“Don’t fucking touch me right now,” Louis snaps with a firm and threatening point of his finger. “This wasn’t supposed to be real. It’s not real.”

He takes deep calming breaths, the kind Liam uses the fight the change, and laces his hands in his hair. Liam gets it. It’s a bit overwhelming when your whole life turns upside down and everything you never thought was real turns out to exist.

“You’ve, uh, you've got... one of those?”

“Yeah. Harry says my wolf’s fur is a bit lighter, though.”

“Naturally,” he says dazed with a flap of his hands. “Holy shit, Liam.”

“I know.”

The wolf comes back, standing at attention at the door and watching the two of them critically.

“Fuuuck, fuck,” Louis says, dodging to wedge himself behind Liam and clutching his shoulders tightly.

“It’s fine,” Liam says as he reaches a hand up to cover Louis’. He’s reasonably certain that’s true. It’s Harry’s wolf, they have an understanding. While Liam’s wolf might, Harry’s wolf would never hurt him. “You’re pack, you’re not a threat.”

“Oh, am I not? Well, in that case,” he says before he starts slapping at Liam’s shoulders, annoying him more than it hurts him.

The wolf growls, low and threatening, and that effectively stills Louis’ hands. Liam reaches to grab them anyway, a preventative measure until Louis’ breathing calms down.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Louis shouts, wrenching uselessly at his hands.

“Only when I change,” Liam says honestly. He shuffles to keep Louis shielded as the wolf moves to sit under the window because Louis squeezes his hands when it starts moving. The wolf ignores the two of them in favor of staring out the window intently as its tail twitches. It looks like it’s standing guard, protecting their pack.

Liam turns to Louis and lets go of his hands slowly, checking that that’s okay, before he swoops down to pick up the bag it brought with him. He finds his phone and keys inside, a post-it note stuck to the phone, the loopy handwriting reading, _Hope the wolf doesn’t lose this! Be safe. - Nialler_.

“Who’s Nialler?” Louis asks, peering over Liam’s shoulder.

So he tells Louis everything. Start to finish. Every detail. Like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s making up for lying for so long. They move to sit on Liam’s bed because Liam knows it’s a long story. Louis is silent throughout, his face worked in a frown of concentration, sometimes popping his eyebrows up in disbelief. Louis isn’t like that, not usually, he’s always got interjections when Liam’s telling a story, he’s always got questions or something to say or jokes to get him laughing.

Liam lets the silence hang between them when he’s brought the story up to this moment, explaining how Harry sent him away with Niall to protect him. He looks to the wolf, figuring Harry’s change wasn’t exactly voluntary. He must have lost control, like Liam does, perhaps at the thought of Liam being threatened. Harry finally lost control, and he lost it over Liam.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were going through all that,” Louis says when he’s ready. It nearly sounds empathetic until he adds, “Although whose fault was that?”

“Mine?” Liam deadpans.

He pats Liam’s chest like _good boy_ for guessing correctly. He spends a while longer thinking about it, digesting, processing, before he asks, “You’re in danger, you’ve just been in danger this whole time?”

“I didn’t know I was in danger.”

Louis looks unimpressed over at him. “You didn’t ask any questions? At no point were you like, _I dunno, mate, some of this seems a little shady_.”

In hindsight, it’s obvious Harry wasn’t telling him the whole story. He could spend hours pulling apart every conversation he’s ever had with Harry, looking for clues, looking for reasons, but he figures it’s because Harry wanted to protect him. Harry’s supposed to be looking out for him.

“I trust him.”

“Why?” Louis asks, loud, sharp, irritated. Liam glances at the wolf, its ears flattened like it’s also irritated.

Harry’s pack, he’s the alpha, he’s Liam’s something more. “He’s Harry,” Liam says, and that’s as close as he can get to explaining it.

“Yeah, no shit, he’s got you brainwashed or sommat, mate, you’ve been _Harry Harry Harry_ since that night at the club.”

He’s been _Harry Harry Harry_ for longer than that, he thinks, but he knows what Louis is playing at.

“It wasn’t ever a matter of choosing between the two of you. I need him.”

“I see,” Louis says shortly. Still a tender subject then.

“No, I need you too, seriously.” Liam reaches a hand up for his shoulder, squeezing because he means it. “When we weren’t speaking, it hurt -- it affected the whole pack, actually, like they knew I was upset. Harry kept pressing me to fix things between us because he knows how much you mean to me, but I just mucked it all up even further every time I tried.”

“There was a considerable amount of mucking, yes,” Louis allows with a tight smile. His eyes drift down to Harry’s wolf. “I am glad you finally told me. As severely fucked up as this is.”

“Me too. Feels like a relief,” Liam agrees.

“I want to help you, if I can. If I’m… pack. I’ll talk to whomever, all the big bad wolves. You’re Liam and you’re staying Liam. I believe that. I’m sure Harry believes that too. Between the two of us, we’ll get you sorted, Payno.” He nods firmly like that’s the end of that, no further questions, no further arguments.

Liam wishes it were that easy.

\--

The wolf starts whining a few hours later, breaking Liam and Louis’ long spell of phone-surfing and nerves-based silence where they sit pressed together on Liam’s bed. It stands and circles in place a few times, making piteous noises that break Liam’s heart.

“Uh. What’s wrong with it?” Louis asks warily.

“Dunno.”

The wolf starts making deep but brief growls as it closes its eyes and drops its head. The wolf looks like it’s elongating, its back twisting and convulsing in a familiar way.

“He’s changing back,” Liam realizes.

It’s actually sort of… more terrifying to see it in reverse, which Liam wouldn’t have imagined. Its legs buckle and shake as they become longer, thicker limbs, its paws spasm until they unfurl into fingers. It shakes until its fur appears to disintegrate until it’s just skin left, and Harry’s long hair grows back to frame his face.

Liam’s off the bed and kneeling by Harry’s side before he’s fully human again. The wolf’s growls have turned into gasps from Harry’s mouth, and he goes boneless when the change is done. Liam has his hands around him to keep him from collapsing onto the floor, maneuvers him until his chest is pressed against Liam’s.

“Harry,” he says gently, running his fingers through Harry’s hair to pull it off his face, “Harry, love.”

Harry makes a soft noise, his head turning to seek out Liam’s touch, but his eyes don’t open. He looks calm, must be out like a light until he wakes naturally. The wolf’s spared him the pain of the change.

“Budge up,” Liam says, looking up, but Louis is frozen in shock, watching the two of them with his mouth dropped open. “Louis, hello, help me out.”

“Right,” he mutters and crawls off the bed.

Liam loops his other arm under Harry’s legs and picks him up bridal style with ease to lay him out gently on Liam’s bed. He pulls the duvet up to cover Harry’s essential bits in the name of modesty in mixed company and presses a kiss to his temple. He wonders what it means that the wolf let Harry come back to him, if it thinks the threat has lessened, if it knows something Liam doesn’t know.

“Oi,” Louis whispers and jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen when Liam looks up at him, so Liam follows him there.

“That’s going to haunt me in my dreams for at least a few weeks,” Louis says, slapping on the faucet to fill the kettle with water. “I have to say, Liam, I am taking this all rather well, considering, and I’m getting no appreciation at all from you.”

Liam narrows his eyes at him. “All you’ve done is hit me and shouted at me.”

“Right, as I’ve said, I’m taking this all rather well.” He gives Liam a small grin for playing along, which breaks the barrier between the two of them they’ve spent hours building up.

Liam goes to the hall closet and pulls from it the ancient folding table they used to use before they’d saved up enough to get the big wooden kitchen table from the charity shop. It’s about the size of an ironing board, but they’d made it work in the past, so they’ll make it work again.

“Did you werewolf the kitchen table in half?” Louis asks as Liam starts pushing the broken table aside.  

“Yes,” Liam admits, his cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

“And you broke the bathroom door last month as well, then. It wasn’t rusty hinges?”

“No, I was tired and I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”

“I really gave it to the landlord about that. Went on and on about providing a safe living space for his tenants, turns out my werewolf flatmate was just a bit sleepy that day. Should probably apologize to him.”

Liam huffs a short laugh. “You won’t.”

“Nah,” Louis says with a grin.

Louis quizzes him about his wolf powers, the pros and cons of it all, treating them like they’re sick superpowers instead of the result of a traumatic life-changing experience that’s caused more trouble than good. Liam supposes he’d find it all a bit cooler if it didn’t come with an occasional unquenchable thirst for violence, but there you have it.

It’s so strange to just sit in his kitchen next to a broken table with Louis and a cup of tea to discuss all of this, like it’s just another part of Liam’s life. They’ve honestly talked about it so much he doesn’t even want to think about it anymore. He just wants something normal -- not that talking about it isn’t slowly becoming normal -- but he doesn’t want it to be the only thing he is to Louis now. He makes Louis talk to him instead about what he plans to do now that he’s jobless, considering they still have rent and bills and such.

Eventually Harry pads sleepily into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of Liam’s joggers and one of his big t-shirts, his hair pulled up with one of the spare ties Liam started keeping on his bedside table a few weeks ago. It’s a role reversal, and while Liam’s not entirely prepared for it, he does like to see Harry in his clothes, bathed in his scent.

He rises and holds a hand out for Harry. Harry comes easily, pressing into Liam, scenting him deep before skating his mouth lightly up Liam’s skin to capture him with a brief kiss that buzzes his lips when they pull away to rest their foreheads together.

“You okay?” Harry mumbles.

“Not really.”

“M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

But it did happen, despite his best intentions. As relieved as Liam is to finally have Harry back in his arms, he’d rather not have lost him to start with.

Louis clears his throat lightly to call their attention. “Have a seat, Harry.”

He gestures to an open seat across from him, then folds his hands together on the table. He looks ready to conduct some rather serious business, and Liam would laugh if he couldn’t sense how angry he is with Harry.

“This an intervention?” Harry jokes hesitantly, looking between the two of them.

“Yes.”

“Louis,” Liam warns.

“ _Liam_ ,” Louis mocks.

“Actually, I’d just like to talk to him alone, do you mind?”

“Yes, I do mind,” Louis answers primly. “No more secrets.”

“It’s not a secret, I just want some privacy.”

“You’re just going to tell me what he says anyway.”

“Then eavesdrop from your room like a normal person, Louis, for goodness’ sake, and save us both the trouble. Just give us a moment.” He gives Louis a very pointed look until Louis gives up and leaves them alone in the kitchen.

“He’s definitely listening,” Harry murmurs, looking off in the direction of Louis’ room.

“He knows everything. I had to tell him. In case they came here to take me away, I wanted him to know why.”

Harry’s face falls once he realizes what Liam means. “Oh.” He takes a seat at the folding table, sensing the talking to he’s about to get. Liam sits next to him, keeps their knees pressed together.

“Niall told me about the Vault,” Liam starts. Harry’s looks down at his hands folded in his lap at the mention, like he’s feeling guilty. “There’s been a lot of talking, lots of explaining, just so much of it, and all along I’ve been running every minute we’ve spent together through my mind looking for reasons why you wouldn’t tell me what I really am.”

“You know what you really are,” Harry says with a frown. “You’re a wolf, and you’re my pack.”

“I’m a bitten wolf. I don’t get a pack; I get locked up in the Vault.”

“You’re not going to the Vault,” Harry says sharply, the force of it prickling the hair on the back of Liam’s neck. He’s got one of his intense stares on, one that darkens Harry’s eyes and sets his jaw tight.

“Niall says people like me become wild.” That’s the term Niall used. Wild. “That we change one day and we never find our way back.”

“You won’t.”

Liam shakes his head, frowning over at him. “You keep saying things like that, but I just don’t know how you’re going to stop it from happening.”

“I’m not going to. You are.” He holds his hand out until Liam places his hand in, and he grips firmly. “Liam, you are so strong, I can’t tell you often enough. You will find that balance because you want it bad enough. You’ll learn to control it because you won’t accept any other option. It’s always been you that’s stopped the wolf taking over. Your strength, your perseverance. I’ve seen you -- when you’ve put your mind to something, you won’t let anything stand in your way. You’re too strong.”

Harry’s faith in him is overwhelming, and in another time and place it’d be comforting. Liam would believe him because Harry believes in him, and he’d try to do right by Harry’s conviction. But Liam doesn’t have anything but an argument against.

“I’m not, though. Because I hurt someone, didn’t I? That’s what David found out,” he guesses.

“Liam,” Harry tries like he’s about to soothe him instead of telling him the truth. But Liam knows how to look for it now.  

“Please just tell me, Harry,” Liam pleads.

Harry regards him for a long time. Liam doesn’t know what he’ll do if Harry doesn’t tell him. He wants Harry’s protection, he looks to him for that, but not from things he’s done, not from lessons he needs to learn.

“There was a guy,” Harry starts slowly, and Liam’s eyes fall closed as he prepares for the worst, “your wolf scratched him up, knocked him around, he’s in hospital, but he’s fine, I swear it.”

Liam inhales sharply as the truth hits him hard. He feels sick. Everything was so good yesterday, so calm. The wolf tricked him into feeling satisfied because he finally got blood. “So I am everything they say I am. I’m losing myself and the wolf’s just doing whatever it wants?”

“Of course not,” Harry says, squeezing his hand again.

“It ran away from you and Niall. It hurt someone.”

“I promise he’ll live.”

“Oh, he’ll _live_ , thank god,” Liam bites, his voice growing a little loud and hysterical. “I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this.”

“Would it help if I weren’t?”

“Maybe?” Liam’s eyes going a little watery.

Harry rises from his chair and pulls Liam with him until he’s standing pressed against Harry’s chest as Harry leans lightly against the folding table. He runs a soothing hand up and down Liam’s back, holding him until Liam stops hiccupping and staining his shirt with tears. Liam's never hurt someone in his life, not intentionally, and he’ll have to live with that. He’ll have to make up for it in any way he can.

“Did I bite him? Is he -- ”

“No,” Harry says quickly. “No bite, he won’t change.”

That’s one small bit of relief to counter the fear that’s clenching his heart tight. The last thing he wants is to curse someone else with this life, especially if they don’t end up as lucky as Liam has.

“Are they -- is the pack mad at me?”

“No, Liam, not at you. I shifted when you left so I’m not sure, but... I can feel they’re mad at me.”  

“You didn’t tell anyone,” Liam says, dancing around the hard truth, _you lied to all of us._ He pulls away enough to see Harry’s face, to look into his eyes to say what he can’t out loud.

“Nobody would know if they didn’t see your bite,” Harry hedges. “We could have passed you as a born wolf.”

Liam frowns at him. “You were already trying to, they all thought I was new. That you recruited me like Niall. You could have said something to clarify, but you didn’t. Not to them. Not to me. You didn’t tell me.”

Harry nods slowly, talks even slower as he tries to explain himself. “I know it’s hard, and I know your wolf has fucked up. But I know you won’t stop until it never happens again. We’ll watch the guy your wolf attacked until we’re sure he’s better, we’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

Liam waits because that wasn’t all of what he wanted to hear. Harry watches him wait until he seems to be ready.

“I didn’t tell you what could have happened to you and that was wrong,” Harry says, firmly enough that Liam believes he means it. “But I didn’t want you to have anything other than hope, to know that it was going to be okay.”

“I still have hope.” He thinks that’s true enough.

He didn’t know how true until he said it out loud, but Harry was right. Liam has no plans to ever lapse again. He’ll work as hard as he can if it means he won’t go to the Vault, if it means he can run safe and be with Harry and keep Louis and join the pack. He’ll do whatever he can to make up for what he’s done, and he won’t stop until he’s in complete control.

“I might have had hope if you had told me from the start,” he continues. “You can’t make those decisions for me. I’m already battling so hard to keep control of myself, the last thing I need is someone else trying to take my choices from me.”

Harry ducks his head like he’s ashamed, but Liam needs to watch him understand. He tips Harry’s chin up with a light finger until his wide, penitent eyes are staring, unblinking, at Liam.

“That’s not what a leader does,” Liam says. “That’s not what a friend does.”

Harry’s face crumples, pressing against Liam’s finger until Liam moves his hand to rest against his face like he knows Harry wants him to. “I’m sorry, Liam, I fucked up. I keep fucking this up. I keep trying to make the right decisions, to be the alpha they say I am, but I just keep fucking it up.”

“We’re both fucking it up, but you said we’re going to be okay, right? Because we’re learning?” Liam runs his hand through Harry’s hair and watches him soften a little more at the touch. “You’re a shit alpha, I’m a shit wolf. What a pair we make.”

Harry grins a little, indulging him. “You make me vulnerable,” he says. “Blinded by how much I like you.”

“That’s not always a bad thing,” Liam says, a little embarrassed at the way his face heats up at _I like you_. He likes Harry too, he likes the idea not that Harry is vulnerable necessarily, but that Harry’s open because of him. He wants into Harry’s head, he wants to affect him, because Harry’s all over his own mind. It’s only fair.

“I’m so stupid over you,” Harry says, a pathetic argument.

“Yeah.” Liam kisses him because he has to. “But you said it, not me.”

“Hey,” he drawls, headbutting his shoulder before resting his face there. “I’ll learn. I promise I’ll do better. We’ll learn together.”

It feels like the dust has settled some after every wall that stood between them fell. Everything they are and everything they’ve done lies before them, accounted for, owned up to. All else appears to be out of Liam’s control.

“Do you want lunch?” Liam asks, for lack of anything left to say.

“No, I should get back to the den,” Harry says, resigned. “I’ll fix this.”

“I’ll come with you,” Liam says immediately, even though they just went through this big production to get him out. Liam doesn’t want to leave him to fight alone, especially if it’s mostly Liam’s battle to fight.

“It’s best if you stay here, stay inside your den. They’ll know where you work and where you live, but you’ll be safe if you stay here. Let me fix this and then I’ll come back for you.”

“What if you don’t fix it?”

“I’ll still come back for you,” Harry says without hesitation. “Just give me some time.”

Liam doesn’t want to think about what comes next if Harry doesn’t win over the support of the pack, if he doesn’t convince them as easily as he did Liam. If he’s lost their trust, that could be it for Liam.

Liam doesn’t want to let him go, but he does. He can’t think of any reasons to hold him longer other than he wants to. Harry doesn’t seem to want to go either, pressing kisses and promises into his skin that wander closer to a goodbye than they should. Then Harry leaves and he feels cold standing in his kitchen alone. He slides into a chair and rests his head against his arms folded on the table. He doesn’t have to see Louis to know that he’s found his way back to the kitchen.

“I’m hungry, for what it’s worth,” Louis says from above him. “If you’re making food.”

“Make your own lunch,” Liam says, muffled.

“That’s cold, Liam.” Liam can hear him as he putters around, cracks open the refrigerator and then the pantry. “We’ve got cereal, do you want some cereal? We’ll make you a mix-up. You didn’t go to the shops while I was away? There’s nothing in here, it’s a shameful state.”

Liam watches him chatter away about absolutely nothing as he scientifically measures out three different cereals in a massive bowl for him. Like he’s determined to make everything seem normal. Just another day in their den, eating shit for lunch, talking shit with each other. He’s grateful for it, considering how absurd his life has gotten, how big everything feels. It’s exactly what he wants going forward, if he can manage it.

\--

Harry doesn’t call him, doesn’t come by for days. Liam takes a leave from work for the whole week, hangs up before he’s yelled at so much by Mr. Sutherland he’s in danger of changing. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be fired soon. It’s not like him to not care, to not fight for his job with everything’s he’s got, but the stress of his personal life has messed him up.

His texts to Harry have gone unanswered, and he hasn’t got Niall’s number because he’d just been seeing him at the den every day. Being cut off stresses him, has him pacing, stir crazy, around the flat for hours. He’s not meant to be shut in, and neither is his wolf.

When he catches Liam standing at his window, Louis tells him that he looks like a sad dog waiting for his owner to return home. Liam doesn’t laugh like he should and Louis promises irritably to never make a joke ever again. After that, Louis spends most of his days out of the den searching for a job while Liam sits at home and waits for Harry.

When he finally drags himself out of bed on the fourth day, he’s surprised to find Niall sitting in his kitchen, his socked feet thrown up onto the chair next to him as he leans casually back in his own. He’s even more startled to see Louis sitting there with him. Both of them are glued to their phones, ignoring each other and the world, which Liam supposes he should be thankful for.

Then Louis says, “Oh, fuck off!” suddenly and tosses his phone onto the table. Niall’s cracking up, looking incredibly smug as he shuts his own phone off.

“Sore loser,” he says by way of explanation, garnering an indignant squawk from Louis.

“Liam, I found one of your strays sniffing around outside,” Louis says loudly like he’s making a point, jerking a thumb at Niall.

“You look like shit,” Niall says, with a critical eye.

“Cheers, Niall.” Maybe he hasn’t shaved or properly showered beyond a light rinsing in days. What of it. It’s not like he’s gone anywhere or done anything. It’s not like he’s a bit touchy about it.

Niall flicks his eyes over to Louis, the question in his expression obvious. Liam flaps a hand to ease his concerns as he moves to rest his back against the refrigerator. He tries not to think the worst about why it’s Niall here and not Harry, when Harry specifically promised to come back for him. He tries not to think Harry’s in trouble or hurt. He doesn’t know where to start, but it doesn’t matter because Niall says something first.

“Harry needs you at the den.”

“What’s wrong?” Liam asks, his stomach clenching because he knew it, he knew something was wrong. “Is he okay? He hasn’t texted me or anything.”

“He’s fine, he’s okay. It’s just he won’t ask you to come. But he needs you, so I’m asking you to come with me to the den.”

Liam raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Harry said I shouldn’t leave until he came for me. Otherwise they can get to me. You want me to go _there_?”

Niall makes an impatient noise as he leans forward with a serious look on his face. “Look, Liam, right now David’s focused on Harry, not you, so by the time they get around to dealing with you, Harry’ll already be a lone wolf.”

Liam frowns at him, remembering Niall mention _lone wolf_ before with an edge of fear to his voice. It must mean something more for them to be packless. He doesn’t really have anything to compare it to -- he’s been without friends before and he’s spent some time away from his family, but pack has always seemed something _more_.

“If a pack rejects their alpha, Liam…” Niall trails off with a shake of his head. “It’s gonna hurt him. He thinks he’ll be okay, but he won’t. He thinks he can win this on his own, but he won’t. He’ll get himself hurt. He’s not listening to me, because he’s Harry and he’s stubborn. But you’re Liam, so.”

That means Harry needs his pack as much as they need him. He’s not selfish enough to think that he’s pack enough for Harry, that even if Harry didn’t have the rest of them, he could live his life with Liam and be fine. If Harry knew this was coming for him and he promised to come back for Liam either way, he’d thought Liam would be enough. He’d hurt himself if he thought Liam would still be okay.

“You have to go,” Louis says suddenly, though his voice is soft.

Liam and Niall turn to him, nearly synchronized in their surprise he’s said anything at all, let alone something in defense of Harry.

“He’s your, uh, he’s pack, isn’t he?” Louis asks, carefully like he’s trying to understand a foreign language. “Like, he’s your boy, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam says. He’s Harry, he’s everything.

“Well, there you have it,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair like that’s that, end of discussion.

Liam glances back at Niall, who looks at him expectantly. Harry needs him. He nods and says, “Let’s go.”

“Shower, shirt, shoes, c’mon, bro, have some self-respect,” Niall says, shooing him away when he tries to make for the door.

Liam’s never gotten ready to go so fast in his life. He leaves his hair floppy and wet against his forehead, throws on Harry’s stolen red shirt over a t-shirt, jams his feet into the first pair of trainers he finds.

Louis stops him at the door, his hands crossed over his chest and his face worked into a frown. “If you fuck this up and I have to come looking for you, Payno, I swear to god.”

Liam wraps his arms around Louis, pressing his face into Louis’ neck until Louis softens and unfolds his arms to embrace Liam, digging his fingers into his back. He doesn’t say goodbye, just gives Louis as encouraging a smile as he can manage before he leaves.

He takes the stairs out of his flat one landing at a time, not giving much thought to the loud thumps the sound of his feet makes when he leaps forward and lands.

“Jesus, Liam,” he can hear Niall mutter as he races to catch up, but he doesn’t much care about that either. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s at the front door of the den, nose to the air for any telltale sign that Harry’s been calling for him. He doesn’t smell anything and his heart stutters.

He expects Niall to unearth some sort of key, to press a secret button in the doorway Liam’s never seen before or something, but he only pulls on the doorknob like it’s unlocked, and they’re in. He follows Niall up the stairs, sparing a glance back at the door but saving that question for another time, until they reach the top floor’s common area.

It’s a relief to Liam to be surrounded by familiar sights and smells, in spite of the circumstances that have brought him back. There are a few of his pack around, all watching him closely. They return hesitant smiles when Liam smiles at them. Niall’s talking to Lux’s dad quietly until he nods his head and leaves the room.

“They’re calling a pack meeting,” Niall explains when he joins Liam. He puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder and even something as simple as that calms his nerves. “We’ll get this sorted soon, all right?”

More and more of the pack slowly filter into the room, taking chairs and sofas or standing like they’re an audience. Liam feels on display, though they’re not entirely obvious about how he’s at the center of it all. A few of them wave to him, greet him kindly. Harry was right, they don’t seem mad at him. They seem to pity him.

The room goes quiet of all idle chatter when the door opens and a tall man Liam’s never seen before stalks into the room. He walks with strength in his shoulders, the sureness of his steps radiating power. This must be David, then.

Harry trails him closely, his head ducked and his arms clasped behind his back. His head jerks up, probably when he senses Liam, and his wide, dark-circled eyes cast about the room until they settle on him. He takes long strides across the room for him, doesn’t stop even though David calls out his name like a warning.

Harry scents him like he doesn’t give a shit, one hand pressed firmly on his hip, the other clutching at the back of his head. Liam returns the favor, relishing the hot puffs of breath Harry leaves on his neck and the sweet scent that’s just for him. Liam forgets they’re surrounded by pack, waiting with bated breath to see what’ll happen. For a few moments, he forgets everything but Harry.

“Harry,” David calls again, sharper, in a tone even Liam feels the strength of in his bones.

“Be strong,” Harry whispers. He squeezes Liam’s hip and presses a kiss to his neck before pulling back with a sorry look in his eyes. He steps backwards as David continues to step forward and they trade places of sorts -- David standing before Liam and Harry tucking himself into the pack by Niall.

“Liam?” David asks like he doesn’t already know.

Liam nods, chancing a quick glance over at Harry to see his unblinking gaze pointed directly at Liam as he pulls at his bottom lip.

David gets a hand on Liam’s shoulder like it’s a friendly pat, but then his fingers shift until they’re pressing under his t-shirt. Liam knows where they’re heading, but he doesn’t see the point in jerking away from him -- that’s just as much confirmation as it would be if he finds Liam’s scar.

David’s fingers dig cruelly into the bite, sending sparks through Liam’s veins and catching his breath in his chest. Liam makes a quick fist, squeezing at it to ground himself. His eyes scrunch shut of their own volition, but Liam forces them back open to look up at David. Be strong.

“Bitten,” David spits, sending the pack murmuring between themselves for a few moments until they settle back down.

“He was bitten during the Blood Moon,” Harry calls. “By one of our pack, most likely. We did this to him. It’s not his fault, it’s ours. We should take care of him as we take care of our own.”

“One of our own? We don’t bite,” David says, his voice a dangerous sort of quiet. He leans in to scent Liam, but it doesn’t make him feel safe like pack should -- it puts him on edge. “Who did this?”

“It was the Blood Moon, you know we all -- ” Harry starts, but David holds up a hand to silence him.

“Who did this?” He walks toward their audience, eyes searching them like he’ll be able to tell who bit Liam. Maybe he can.

Nobody volunteers. It’s entirely possible nobody knows whether or not they’ve done it anyway. Liam thinks he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to put that on someone, the guilt of knowing their wolf changed Liam. There’s nothing they could have done about it.

“Why didn’t you tell us all the truth, Harry?” David asks when he comes to a stop in front of Harry. “Aside from your obvious attachment.”

Harry stands tall before him, his gaze unwavering even as Liam feels a little vulnerable about _obvious attachment_. They are quite obviously attached to each other, if everyone else in the room can smell the scent Harry makes only for Liam. He just doesn’t want to be seen as a point of weakness for Harry.

“Look at him,” Harry says, and they all do. “He’s strong, stronger than any bitten wolf we’ve come across. I had no reason to suspect he’d become wild.”

“It’s true,” Niall confirms, “he’s been two moons and he’s only getting stronger.”

“He’s pack,” someone else says, but Liam’s doesn’t catch who it is. There’s a murmuring of agreement around the room, mostly by the people Liam’s spent the most time with at the den. A wave of comfort and gratitude washes over him at the sound.

“He attacked someone,” David cuts in and the murmuring goes silent, “he put them in hospital. He’s lucky they’re not dead.”

“I wouldn’t let my wolf kill him,” Liam says suddenly. It’s a hell of a way to start his own defense, but nobody knows but him.

He remembers it now, flashes coming to him as he stands there, courtesy of his wolf. He remembers his victim’s face clearly, lying prone under him in the coffee shop, lying prone under his wolf in the street. He remembers being woken to be asked for permission. He remembers the wolf stalking the man back to his flat that night and Harry’s wolf stopping it then in anger. Harry’s wolf couldn’t have known the reason Liam’s wanted to attack; he wasn’t there.

“The man threatened my pack -- our pack. I watched him burn my best mate’s hands. My wolf was only seeking retribution. It had him cornered, vulnerable, and it asked me if I wanted him to finish the job. I told him no. That doesn't excuse what it did, but it still asked me before it went too far.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise and he mouths _Louis_? at him. Liam nods in return before glancing back at David, who seems either unimpressed or unconvinced by his explanation. Liam knows it’s the truth.

“His wolf listened to him. That’s the start of a balance,” Harry says. “He fought for his pack. There are those of us who have done worse in the name of pack defense.”

He stares intently at David with a challenge in his eyes, and Liam doesn’t know if he means David’s done worse or Harry has.

“He’s loyal to Harry, you can’t pretend you don’t smell it on him,” Niall says, nodding at him. “That’s for Harry, that is.”

It’s something deeper than loyalty, Liam thinks, but he doesn’t know how to tell them. He must be giving off his own scent for Harry, and he’s sure it’s as strong as the one Harry gives for him.

“He’s loyal to his alpha, he’s loyal to his pack,” Niall adds.

“Harry’s not quite an alpha yet, and it’s in our best interest to remember that. And don’t think your complicity has gone unnoticed,” David threatens. Niall looks somehow unthreatened by it. “I understand Liam’s ignorance to his situation, but not yours, Harry. You put our pack in danger and that alone is worth your removal.”

“You can’t,” Liam says, taking an instinctive step forward, but he’s not sure what else to do with himself. He heart pounds at the stricken look on Harry’s face. “He’s the only reason I’ve survived this long. He’s saved me from myself, he’s teaching me to control it.”

The rest of the pack seems similarly displeased at the idea of Harry becoming a lone wolf, only confirming what Liam had thought about their loyalty to Harry as well.

“Shift, then,” David says, raising his voice over the nervous tittering of the crowd. “Show us what you’ve learned.”

His stomach drops with the open invitation from an alpha, and he expects the pain to start creeping in at any moment. “No, thank you,” he says.

“You’re on the edge already, son. I can feel it rolling off of you, I can hear your wolf howling for escape. You’ll shift. It’s easier if you don’t fight it.”

He can feel it, the way his skin vibrates and his breath catches in his chest. He’s fighting with everything he’s got as he says, “I don’t want to.”

David grips Liam’s chin roughly, holding his critical gaze steadily. “Shift.”

It feels like a command, shivering down his spine, nagging insistently at him. He wants Liam to change, right here in front of all these people. He doesn’t like the crystal clear murmurs around the room. They like him and support him, but the second he’s in danger of changing, they’re scared of him and what he might do.

He flicks his eyes over to Harry, who’s watching him closely. He doesn’t say anything or do anything to help Liam, but Liam knows it’s because he’s got to do this on his own. He starts his breathing exercises, closing his eyes and turning his focus to the wolf. They can’t do this right now, they can’t prove David right.

He knows his wolf isn’t wild, he knows they’ll find a way to co-exist. Liam mumbles, “I won’t.” And he doesn’t.

His wolf eases off, receding into the corner of his mind where it seems to make its home. A balance. He huffs out a deep, calming breath and stands firm. David looks livid, his face pinched in disgust despite the fact that Liam is doing exactly what he’s supposed to do. He’s managed to stay himself when he needs to because the wolf has its own time and place to be free.

“He’s in control,” he can hear Harry say. “You see it.”

“He defied an order from a pack alpha,” David shoots back. “He’s not showing restraint, he’s showing defiance. You know bitten wolves cannot be controlled, they can’t be reasoned with. He’s not one of ours.”

“It’s not our place to give orders. We lead, we take care. We don’t control, that’s not what a leader does,” Harry says, his voice low and severe and commanding. Liam looks over to him, finds him looking back at Liam as he uses Liam’s words in his defense. “What you’re asking him to do is not in our best interest or his, he’s right to say no.”

David’s silent, without a comeback for the first time. He surveys his pack as the air in the room shifts. Liam feels warmth radiating off of them, sees their faces and finds compassion there. Liam thinks they’ve won.

“You will take personal responsibility for his training and his actions,” David tells Harry when he seems to realize he’s lost.

“I’ll take responsibility for my own actions,” Liam interjects before Harry can. It’s too important to him to take ownership -- he can go to Harry for help, but only he is responsible for what he does. “This is my pack, if you’ll have me, and I’ll share the same duties and rules. I just need one chance, now that I know everything.”

“One chance. We can’t risk our pack’s safety, nor can we risk the safety of the people in this city.”

“I understand. I know the consequences,” Liam says, the weight of his words sitting heavy on his chest.

“Very well,” he says, holding a hand out for Liam. “Welcome to the pack, Liam.”

“Thank you,” Liam says as he grips David’s hand firmly.

“I’m not the bad guy, Liam,” he says quietly as he steps closer to him. “I have to look out for what’s best for my pack, you understand. Don’t do anything to make me regret trusting you.”

He lets go of Liam’s hand and sweeps out of the room. Liam barely has a second to exhale before the rest of the pack filter out slowly as well, each coming to Liam first before they leave the room. Some of them scent him, others shake his hand or place a comforting hand on him. He gets smiles and whispered welcomes and congratulations. He’s part of the pack now, without question.

Niall’s last to see him, gathering him in a strong hug before smacking a big kiss on his cheek and whispering his thanks and that he never doubted Liam could win. Then it’s just him and Harry, the two of them watching each other until they make the subconscious decision to crash together, holding each other like they know how close they came to being torn apart.

“You are amazing, Liam Payne,” Harry says as he leans in to kiss him.

Only then does it feel like a relief, the pressure that’s been weighing him down releases him. He’s safe, he’s pack, he’s got Harry, he’s gonna be okay. Harry fought for him, Liam fought for himself, the pack supported him. He’s so sure he’s going to be okay.

“Thank you,” Liam whispers against his lips. “For all of it.”

Harry leans into him to steal another kiss that feels like home. “Always.”

\--

His phone howls at him, a text message. Louis changed his text tone about a week ago and it admittedly took Liam a few days to realize it was actually a snippet from “Werewolves of London” he set it to. Liam genuinely thinks it’s pretty funny, so he hasn’t bothered to change it.

 _Come save me_ , it says _._ Liam’s heart lurches until he gets a follow up -- _Niall kicked me out of the kitchen for “hovering.” I’m bored._

“We’re gonna be late,” Liam shouts, thumbing his phone open to let Harry know they’ll be there as soon as they can.

“All right, all right,” Louis grouses, stomping out of his room and pulling a jumper over his head. “Although it’s my birthday party, I can be late if I want to.”

They’d agreed to have a birthday dinner for Louis a week early because the full moon rises the day after his birthday. Which is also, incidentally, Christmas Day -- it’s a hell of a Christmas present, giving himself over to a wolf. But, what can you do, really.

Liam has to miss Christmas with his family as well, but Harry promises in the new year, they’ll go see them together. Liam’s still not sure how he’s going to tell them. Or if he should even tell them.

“You’re nervous,” Liam notes at the tension in his scent as they walk down the stairs out of their building. He’s empathetic enough, but mostly he’s pleased. It means Louis cares, though he’d never admit it.

“Well, Harry shouldn’t have told me I’m the first normal person to come over in fifty-seven bloody years, puts a lot of pressure on a bloke. I mean, his mum hasn’t even been by.”

“Harry’s mum is coming for Christmas,” Liam says. Harry’s been working with the pack as part of his impending transition to lead. If their dinner with Harry and Niall goes well, they’ll start a slow exposure of non-wolf pack to the den. It’s the first of many changes he’s looking to make.

“I could put them off humans for another fifty-seven years, and then where would you all be? Unsocialized, sniffing people left and right without regard,” Louis says, his hand flapping.

“You know most of us have normal jobs? We see people, mate,” Liam laughs. “You’re pack, you’ll be fine.”

“How do you know? I could just be a good mate. Agent Coulson to the Avengers. Next to the Avengers, but not actually part of them. Pack-adjacent.”

Liam doesn’t exactly know how to explain it, it’s intrinsic. He’s stopped questioning things like that ages back because once he started changing into a wolf on the regular, everything else seemed sort of… immaterial.

“How did you know to let Niall in that first time?” Liam leads. Louis frowns at him like he doesn’t get it. “When I was waiting for Harry and you said you found Niall hanging around outside. You didn’t really know who he was, he could have been sent to take me to the Vault, but you let him in anyway. Why?”

Louis stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “Well, shit.”

“You trusted him,” Liam guesses.

“Yeah,” Louis says softly, like he doesn’t believe it.

“Pack.” He nudges his shoulder against Louis’.

They take the bus because it’s a long walk to the den for Louis, who can’t walk as fast as Liam can. Liam keeps his head down, focused on his fingers, breathing evenly as Harry taught him. Public transit is a lot of noise and a lot of people and a lot of bumps and nudges, and Liam prefers to walk or run where he can.

Louis taps a finger lightly against Liam’s knee cap. “What have you got me for Christmas, then.”

“It’s a surprise,” Liam insists, not for the first time. It’s a roundtrip ticket to his mum’s in Doncaster for the holiday he and Harry went halfsies on because Louis complained for days how he couldn’t afford one only having just got a new job and they really are quite a bit more expensive than Liam thought. Also, on a more selfish note, he knows Louis wants to be there for the full moon, and Liam’s just not ready for that yet.

“Ah, c’mon, Payno,” he moans and starts asking after every ridiculous thing that probably pops into his head -- from socks to a yacht -- like he thinks Liam’s going to crack and tell the truth. He knows what Louis’ doing.

It’s cute that he and Harry think Liam can’t ever hear them when Harry gives him tips to help Liam focus when Harry isn’t there, when they think Liam’s eyes are going to go gold and he’s going to start losing himself. This particular technique is meant to ground him, give him something to focus on to take his mind off of all the things that could push him to change.

It works well enough, coupled with the random text message Harry sends him when they’re about halfway there -- _You’ve got a nice face_. Liam smiles down at his phone and Louis tells him he’s disgusting and they make it to the den with no issue.

“No buzzer,” Louis says, surveying the doorway with critical eyes.

“Don’t need one,” Liam answers. If he’s pack, then he’s just able to open the door, they said. So he does. It’s a palpable difference when Liam steps over the threshold, the feeling of unquestionable safety washing over him, the feeling of home.

Louis has eyes on everything, soaking the whole place up like it doesn’t just look like a fairly standard building. He’s nervous again, watching the doors of flats they pass as though like at any given moment a wolf is going to pop out of one. It’s possible, Liam supposes, but not likely. He rests a hand on Louis’ back for a while, grounding him in return when he needs it.

He can smell dinner well before they get to Harry’s floor, but even underneath it, he can smell how impatient Harry is for him. Liam grins, just as impatient. It’s confirmed when Harry’s door is wrenched open before Liam can even get a hand on it.

“Finally,” Harry says grumpily, tugging Liam in by the shirt and kissing him like he’s trying to prove a point. The point is likely, as he’s said before, he doesn’t like to be without Liam. Liam presses his _hello_ onto Harry’s lips, digs his _I missed you too_ into his waist.

“ _Happy birthday, Louis_ ,” Louis says, mocking Harry’s deep voice. “Ah, cheers, mate. _Your hair looks nice_. Well, I did wash it yesterday, which is, incidentally, when Liam and I saw you last, and not eighty-four years ago as your passionate reunion would have us all believe.”

Harry chuckles, and Liam smiles against his lips, squeezing his hip a little. Harry turns to him. “Happy birthday,” he says hesitantly, standing light on his toes like he wants to move for him but isn’t sure if he should.

“Come on, bring it in,” Louis answers, opening his arms wide for Harry. Louis catches Liam’s eyes over Harry’s shoulder as he scents him, lifts his eyebrows and quirks his head a little at Harry as if to ask Liam if he’s pleased. Liam laughs and gives him an encouraging thumbs up.

“All right,” Louis prompts, patting at Harry’s back to let him know he’s done with this. But then an aproned Niall’s standing beside him suddenly, looking expectant. Louis sighs and waves him over. “You too, then? Yes, get in. Do the other side if you will, keep the sniffing evened up.”

Niall digs his nose into the other side of Louis’ neck as he bear hugs him so strong he lifts him off the floor a little. Louis squawks and slaps at him until his feet hit the ground again.

Liam grows warm, contented, as Harry presses into his side. These are his boys, this is his pack.

Dinner goes beautifully -- easy, fun, not full of any sort of life threatening danger. Louis pretends he doesn’t get a bit weepy about the train ticket. Afterwards they match Louis beer for beer until he realizes too late they aren’t anywhere near as drunk as he is. It still makes their _Die Hard_ marathon hilarious, the three of them ganging up on Niall until he agrees to talk like Hans Gruber for two full hours.

Liam’s not entirely sure why anyone was making a big deal out of it, why there were nervous whispers in the den all week about Liam bringing over someone from the outside. It’s just mates. It feels right, a bond Liam couldn’t begin to describe accurately -- that sense of belonging, comfort, family.

Liam doesn’t even realize he falls asleep on the sofa until he wakes up slowly, stretching his neck where it had gone stiff from his awkward position tucked up against the back of the sofa. Harry’s back is pressed into Liam’s chest, a familiar sleeping position for the two of them, Niall’s passed out on the recliner next to them, and Louis’ spread-eagled on the floor.

He squints at his watch. 2.47 am. He debates going back to sleep, but he’s properly awake now anyway, as is his custom for this time of night. He slowly and rather gracefully finds his way off the sofa without disturbing Harry too much and pads into the kitchen after loading himself up with as many dirty dishes and empties as he can off the table in front of him. He sets them all on the counter and goes for a water from the fridge.

Niall bought them a magnetic whiteboard for the fridge and wrote “__ Days Since Liam’s Lost It” on it, a not so appropriate visual reminder of how many days have passed since Liam’s last unscheduled change. They’ve had to wipe it clean twice, but now it boasts eleven days without a shift, his longest stretch yet. He’s going to try scheduling extra changes next year, working with Harry to change intentionally on non-full moon nights to appease the wolf. He wants a true balance.

He erases the eleven with his hand and writes a twelve in. It’s a new day.

He moves to the window and cracks open the curtains to peek outside at the moon. He can’t help but think it’s the moon’s fault, at least a little bit. What it does to him is unthinkable, but he isn’t angry.

He can smell Harry behind him before he sees him, before he wraps his arms around Liam’s waist and settles his chin on Liam’s shoulder to watch the moon with him.

He thinks maybe he’d be pack to Harry anyway, even if he wasn’t a wolf. Maybe Harry would have found him eventually, maybe he’d still want him, maybe he’d still need him. He thinks Harry’s inevitable that way.

Because he thinks maybe he loves Harry a little bit, loves him for his patience and kindness, loves him for his loyalty and strength, loves him when he calls for Liam and nobody else. He loves Harry for being there when Liam needs him, even though Liam needs him every minute of the day, even now as they stand wrapped around each other and look up at the waxing gibbous where it hangs serenely in the sky.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you need me, I'm [here.](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/140456126673/title-aint-going-down-without-a-fight-author)


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